


Keeping It Together For Your Sake

by toasterness



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - GTA V, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Background Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Heist, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Myan - Freeform, Rated For Violence, Team as Family, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasterness/pseuds/toasterness
Summary: Of two things, Michael was now one hundred percent sure:1. The Vagabond was an unstoppable and deadly force of nature.And2. He was inexplicably, totally, and irreversibly in love with him.-------------------------------------------------------------Geoff’s face went white as his eyes quickly scanned the letter. For every second that he read, it looked like he aged five years.“Geoff?” Ryan’s voice was small, quieter than any of them had ever heard it. “What does it say?”There was no response at first, their boss’ mouth a tight line as he reread the words carefully scrolled out in black pen. Then, with a shaking hand, Geoff flipped over the photograph in his other hand, finally facing the others. In the photo, a bloodied body lay on the floor in a dark room, it’s arms and legs tied, a blindfold over its face. With that mop of unruly auburn curls and unmistakable forearm tattoos, it wasn’t hard to figure out who the body belonged to. Geoff’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quivering, anger and fear taking over his formerly calm demeanor.“They have Michael.”





	1. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (More Than A Warning)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'd like to start by thanking my beta readers, [shineelocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineelocket) and [wefall-nomore](https://wefall-nomore.tumblr.com) for being so patient and wonderful! Run-on sentences are the bane of my existence and they both slapped my hands to keep me from even more of them existing than there already are. Any leftover mistakes are from me being dumb!
> 
> I've been a big fan of AH for YEARS and decided I'd like to try my hand at fic writing. Though I've been writing stories since I was little (as well as a novel for he past 6 years), this is my frst actual fanfiction. It was really fun to write!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com) as Toasterness so we can rant about shit together <3

There were two Ryan Haywoods; there was the Vagabond, a cold and ruthless killer who reveled in violent acts of chaos, and there was Ryan, soft-spoken and nerdy, whose favorite drink was hot cocoa and who loved to read science fiction. Often, bits of one side would bleed into the other and Michael would laugh. There’s not much funnier to see than the terrifying visage of that black skull mask as he picks up a stray cat to snuggle and talk to in a baby voice. Michael loved both sides of the man, and that was proving to be a problem.

He hadn’t fallen all at once; no, it was a slow, almost unnoticeable process that Michael didn’t catch on to till it was far too late. In the beginning, when Ryan had first been recruited into the Fakes by a very determined Geoff, Michael made sure that the older man knew that he didn’t trust him. Within the first few days of working together, he made sure to tell the gent that he would personally end his life if he ever presented as a risk or caused any of the crew to be harmed. Over time, through years of heists – both successful and disastrous – the two became reluctant teammates, then friends.

Looking back, Michael knew that Ryan never held any animosity towards him, that all of the issues they’d had early on had stemmed purely from his own mistrust. Without fail, the older man always managed to prove himself loyal. He figured that was one of his main problems; Michael would do anything for his crew, and here was this man that not only respected that but actively participated in the same mindset. No wonder he fell for him.

It should be noted that the Fakes were a notorious gang for a reason; they had built their reputation throughout Los Santos over many years and with great precision. The fear and respect the mere mention of their name begot was enough to make any crew jealous, and the Fakes used this to their advantage. When no one wanted to mess with you, you got away with a lot more. And Michael embodied this name; he had more than proved himself to be as fear-inspiring as the others, if not more. Mogar, the Wolf of Los Santos, was a legend all in itself.

The issue stemmed from the fact that Michael was finding Ryan more and more distracting, even during heists and on jobs. It was one thing to constantly be eyeing him when everyone was in the penthouse and another thing entirely to have to shake himself out of stares while on a mission. Even Jeremy had noticed the last time, giving him a weird look as he resumed explaining the next phase. He hadn’t brought it up in private yet but Michael knew that he would be interrogated at some point soon; despite appearances, Jeremy was quick as a fox, and Ryan was his best friend, which meant that he would be wary of any changing dynamics. Michael was just glad that Geoff was none the wiser because he sure as hell didn’t need his boss breathing down his neck about inter-crew relations, despite the fact that he didn’t plan on letting Ryan in on his feelings. Ever.

“Hey Michael, you mind comin’ in here a minute?” Geoff’s voice sounded from inside his office as Michael walked by.

_Well, shit; maybe I spoke to soon._

Michael turned and stepped into the room, his shoulders tense.

Geoff didn’t look up from the folder he was searching through as he absentmindedly waved his hand in front of him. “Close the door, please.”

“What’s up, boss?” Michael cleared his throat, softly shutting the door. “I thought we were all done planning for the day?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got something else to talk to you about,” Geoff responded, a big yawn distorting the end of his sentence.

Michael shuffled a bit on his feet before he chose to sit down across from Geoff, who took the same time to put a marker in his folder and shut it, tucking it away in one of his desk drawers before finally looking at Michael. The circles under his eyes looked particularly dark, Geoff’s normally sleepy looking face more exhausted than usual. The latest heist must be hitting him hard, Michael reasoned to himself; he and Gavin had been staying up extra long as of late in order to prepare.

Running his hands down the front of his face, Geoff finally spoke. “Now, I don’t want you to think you’re in trouble or some shit -”

“Too late for that,” Michael mumbled under his breath.

“- but I recently came into some knowledge that I must admit is stressing me out a bit more than the normal bullshit I have to deal with.”

Michael’s body jerked. “Jeremy, that son of a -”  
“Jeremy has nothing to do with this,” Geoff said, his head cocked to the side.

“Well who else told you! Fuckin’ prick hasn’t even spoken to me about it but he’s gone and tattled to mommy anyway! It’s not like I’ve actually _done_ anything! I’m still in the figuring it all out stage!”

Geoff looked fully confused now, his brow creased in concern. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Michael scowled. “My thing with -” he stopped abruptly, Geoff’s confusion suddenly catching up to him; this wasn’t about his infatuation with Ryan, was it?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about but if you’ve got something to tell me, you better spit it out now.”

Swallowing, Michael tried to back-peddle. “Uh, nah, never mind, I was thinkin’ - nothing, don’t worry about it, please continue.” Ah yes, very smooth.

Geoff stared at him for a few long seconds, making him flinch internally at his own idiocy. Finally, he clicked his tongue and continued.

“Whatever man, just don’t let it fuck with any of our plans.” Geoff let out a heavy sigh. “What I called you in for is to tell you that those guys you told me about, the ones from back in Jersey?” Michael nodded, a small prickle beginning at the base of his spine. “Well, they sent me a personal text, somehow getting past Gav’s secure lines; they’re here, in Los Santos, and they’re pissed.”

Of all the things Michael could have predicted that Geoff would say, this was not even on the list.

The thing is, Michael used to run with some nasty folks back home, real foul people with even worse habits. He knew this when he worked with them and he knew it even better now, even his crooked moral compass cringing at the kinds of stuff they did. As much as Michael was ok with robbery and the ‘occasional’ murder, he was absolutely not ok with human trafficking. Turns out, that didn’t sit well with his then buddies; their response to his rejection of their ideas earned him a spot on their hit list. It probably didn’t help that Michael had a hard time keeping his mouth shut about his opinions, especially when he disagreed with a crew plan. The only good thing to come of that whole shit show was him moving out to Los Santos and eventually joining the Fakes. He figured faking his own death before skipping town would be enough to keep those assholes away from him but apparently he was wrong.

This was going to get messy, he could already tell.

“What – What do they want?” He asked, his voice catching a bit in his throat.

Geoff fixed him with a sympathetic eye. “I think you can guess.”

“Right,” Michael nodded, squaring his shoulders. “Me. Of Fucking course.”

It stood to reason that his old crew was pissed for more reasons than one; not only had he defied their orders years ago, but now that they knew he had faked his death and ran away to join another crew, they would be practically salivating to get their hands on him and Michael knew the kinds of fucked up methods they liked to employ. Scratch his first thought; things were going to get really, _really_ messy.

With a humorless chuckle, Michael looked back up at Geoff. “I don’t suppose you told them where they could find me, huh?”

“Michael,” Geoff started, his voice turning serious. Michael had never seen him this somber before. “There is no way in _Hell_ that those fuckers are getting anywhere _near_ you, do you understand?”

Michael looked back down at his lap where his hands lay, clenched so tight that the knuckles were turning white. “Yeah, yeah, I know, thanks.”

“Seriously, Michael; no one messes with my crew. _Nobody._ ” Geoff heaved a big sigh and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. “I did some digging of my own, I know what kinds of shit these guys are capable of, what kind of sick fucks they are. The heist on Friday is still a go; I’m not giving them the satisfaction of thinking they’ve scared us. And you’re still on it, don’t worry, but you’re gonna be with another member of the crew at all times before, during, and after till we can figure out what the hell to do.”

Michael’s head snapped up. “I don’t need a babysit-”

“Furthermore, I need you to stay in the penthouse as much as you can; no going out unless it’s absolutely necessary, you got that? You’re on lock-down.”

“Christ, Geoff, what the hell else am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit and wait for them to lose interest?”

“You’re going to _live,_ Michael!”

It had been a long time since Michael had heard Geoff get angry, really angry. Sure, he shouted at them all the time for being ‘dumb pricks’ but this was something else, something dangerous; his voice was laced with authority, frustration, and even a little desperation. Michael could feel a rock settle in his stomach at the realization that this whole situation was worse than he had thought at first.

“You have to live, Michael, that’s all you have to do,” Geoff continued, his volume lower but the intensity still there. “I know you can handle yourself, trust me, I know, but I’m not risking a member of my crew – my _family –_ if I can help it. Think of it like the buddy system, if you have to, I don’t care, as long as you fucking stay with whoever I pin on you, got it?”

Michael slowly nodded his head and watched as Geoff’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. If it made his boss worry this much, he’d go along with it.

“What did they say that’s got you so spooked?”

Geoff grimaced. “They know all our usual haunts and have eyes on the penthouse. They listed about five different safe-houses, some of our most discrete, and left lovely little messages on their walls. They even hand delivered a letter to Trevor at his house in Vinewood.” Michael’s eyes widened at that. “He’s fine, he’s here and on lock-down too, though I don’t think they want anything more from him than to use him as a scare tactic.”

The rock in Michael’s belly turned to a burning fury at that; it was one thing to go after him but to go after his crew? Nope, nuh-uh, that wouldn’t stand. He clenched his fists tighter in his lap.

“Those fuckers better watch their backs,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Geoff smiled grimly. “Yeah, yeah, it’s pissing me off too, but we’ve at least got that bit under control for now. Just be careful till the heist is over and we can figure out a better plan to get them taken care of.”

Again, Michael nodded along to Geoff’s words, his brain working in overtime as he tried to come up with some other information about his old crew that he could supply to try and stay a step ahead of them. All he could come up with were the gruesome details of how they dealt with their victims, and he really didn’t want to be thinking about that.

He unclenched his jaw, the muscles protesting to the strain. “So, who do you have on guard duty? Jeremy? He’s practically like a bulldog anyway.”

Geoff chuckled darkly. “No, I’ve got someone a bit scarier in mind.” He turned his attention to the door. “You can come in now!”

With a soft click, the door slipped open and a tall figure slouched his way inside the office. Michael stared, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

“Ryan?”

The man in question smiled sheepishly, the lack of face paint revealing a soft expression and his piercing blue eyes. He looked almost as tired as Geoff.

“Hey, man,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Geoff told me you needed a shadow. Guess we’ll be hanging out a bit more than usual.”

Michael glanced back at Geoff, who gave him a sneaky wink. Maybe he knew more than he was letting on.

“Uh, yeah, great, sounds good,” he stuttered. He could feel a soft heat spreading up the back of his neck.

“I figured having the Vagabond at your back for the next week or so would be a pretty good deterrent to anyone stupid enough to try anything.” Geoff said with a shrug.

Nodding, Michael looked back at Ryan; despite being well over six feet and broad shouldered, his muscles apparent through his patterned sweater, he still somehow managed to look non-threatening. The awkward shifting from foot to foot just added to his adorable dorkiness. Oh yeah, Michael was totally fucked.

“Now,” Geoff began, getting up out of his seat with a small groan. “Get out of my office so I can go talk to Gavin; we’ve still got a couple things to hash out.” He grabbed some papers off the desk as he made his way to the door. As he passed the two of them, he turned and squinted his eyes. “And play nice!”

Michael stared down at his hands in his lap, chewing on his cheek.

“So...” Ryan began, elongating the o. “Got any plans for the rest of the day?

Michael snorted, standing from his chair. He started towards the office door, pointedly not looking at the other’s face. Before he could make it out, however, he felt a large hand ( _holy shit, why did his hands have to be so big?_ ) grab his arm. He almost flinched, the touch sending a shock through his body. He slowly turned, keeping his eyes on Ryan’s chest as the older man began to speak.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal and you don’t want to be sidled with me all week.” Michael could see him still shifting his body weight from side to side. “I’d feel the same way if I were in your position.”

Michael laughed, finally looking up at Ryan. “Yeah, sure, the big bad Vagabond, watchdog extraordinaire. Don’t tell me you didn’t try to get out of this as soon as Geoff asked; your talents are better used elsewhere.”

Ryan cocked his head to the side. _God, he looks like a lost puppy._ “Geoff didn’t ask me,” he said in confusion.

“Right, ordered you to.”

“No, I volunteered.”

This made Michael pause, his eyebrows shooting up. “You what??”

Ryan looked away, a soft shade of pink tinting his cheeks. “Uh, yeah, I volunteered? Geoff spoke to me and Jeremy like 20 minutes ago, said something about needing someone to keep an eye on you for a bit, and I said I’d do it? He seemed real intense about it.”

It was then that Michael noticed that Ryan still had his hand wrapped around his arm. He glanced down at it and cleared his throat. Ryan immediately let go and stared at his hand like it didn’t belong to him. Michael maintained his stare at his arm, the warm feeling at his neck spreading. He needed to put some space between him and Ryan as soon as possible or he might explode.

“Well, uh, thanks, I guess.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Ryan replied, his apparently traitorous hand now scratching at the nape of his neck, that sheepish smile back on his face. “I’ve got your back, you know? That’s what friends are for, right?”

Michael inwardly cringed at the word as he continued out into the hallway.

“Yeah, friends.”

Ryan was absolutely going to be the death of him.

When Ryan joined the Fakes, he had originally only done so as a temporary self-assignment; he had never planned on sticking around for very long. Once Gavin had managed to track him down, Geoff had pestered him for months to join them, and he had agreed to try it out for a bit. The Fake AH Crew was chaotic and flamboyant, all the things the previous crews he’d worked with had not been, and he found them frustrating as hell. Ryan figured that after a couple heists he’d just up and leave, go back to his loner lifestyle. The Vagabond worked best alone, after all.

But then the worst possible thing happened: he actually started to like those fuckers. Jack felt like the first real friend he’d ever made, Geoff made for surprisingly intellectual conversation, and Gavin was the exact shade of crazy that he got along with. Even Ray, before he left, had

quickly become a constant in his life. Michael though – Michael was different; he was loud, sure, but he was also intensely wary of the older man, always keeping an eye on him. Ryan vividly remembered being warned by the lad to not cause any trouble. The threats that had followed may have been unnecessary – Ryan never planned on being anything but helpful – but they were believed nonetheless.

It was this fire and loyalty to his friends that originally made it clear to Ryan that Michael was somebody he wanted to get to know, to get close to. In their line of work, it was hard to find people you could trust, and here was this young man who was fully willing to take a bullet for his crew. Despite his best efforts though, it took far longer for Michael to trust Ryan than the gent would have liked. He supposed having the reputation that he did really didn’t help in this department.

Over time though, the two grew close. Once they’d realized what an unstoppable force they became when they worked together, they teamed up more and more on heists. Then they began running paired opps together. And then they just started to hang out every so often. Their many shared interests made it easy for them to find things to do. Ryan’s favorite place to go with the lad was the middle of the desert, where they would practice their aim with new weapons or the explosives expert would show off his newest experiments. There was something special about Michael when he blew something up; the dimples in his cheeks appeared with his smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and he would let out the most infectious laughter.

Ryan often found himself daydreaming about that laugh, about that smile.

It wasn’t like Ryan didn’t recognize his changing emotions over Michael for what they were; he fully realized he was attached early on. He just didn’t want to push anything onto the younger man, especially when it took so long for him to like Ryan in the first place. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if the lad even went for other men. As soon as he figured out how much he cared for Michael, he decided that he wouldn’t let his feelings get in the way of the budding friendship they had.

Jeremy knew, of course; Jeremy could read him like an open book. From the moment they met when ‘Rimmy Tim’ was recruited onto the crew, Ryan knew they would get along. The lad was his best friend, his Battle Buddy, and he couldn’t keep secrets from him if he tried. It took Jeremy little to no time at all to confront him about _‘the way you stare at him, Rye, honestly’,_ and all Ryan could do was be honest; he was absolutely gone for Michael and that was that.

So when Geoff approached the two of them earlier that day, saying something about needing one of the two of them to keep an eye on Michael for a bit, Jeremy merely gave Ryan a meaningful smirk and sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. It took Ryan only a second before he volunteered himself. Their boss had looked a little taken aback by his earnestness but thanked him and requested him to meet him in his office in about a half hour. When Geoff left, Jeremy had sent him an exaggerated wink before turning back to the video game they had been playing.

That left Ryan where he was now, standing at the doorway to Geoff’s office, staring at his traitorous hand. Had it just been his imagination or had the lad been _blushing?_

 _Best not to get my hopes up,_ he reasoned to himself. He felt a small smile tug at his lips regardless.

Following Michael out into the hallway, Ryan took a deep breath before letting it all out in a rush. He would not make this awkward, he had promised himself! His job was to keep Michael safe from whatever threat Geoff had received, and that’s what he was going to do, no matter his feelings. With a forced neutral expression, he stepped into the kitchen across the island from the subject of his mission.

Michael was busy rifling through the fridge, bread and cheese already on the counter. He didn’t turn around when Ryan entered.

“Sandwich?” The lad asked as he pulled out a bag of ham slices.

Ryan sat down at one of the island stools. “Sure.”

“Ham alright?”

“It’s my favorite.”

“Mustard and mayo?”

“Just mayo, thanks.”

Michael turned to him then, though he didn’t meet his eyes, all the sandwich makings spread out on the island before him. “Figured if you’re gonna be stuck babysitting, I might as well feed ya.”

Ryan shifted in his seat. “I don’t look at it as babysitting,” he replied. “I just see it as us hanging out a bit more; we haven’t really been doing much of that lately.”

Interestingly, Ryan could see the very tips of Michael’s ears go a little pink as the lad shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess we haven’t, huh?”

To be honest, Ryan had been noticing Michael’s distance a lot recently; he always seemed to have something else to do when Ryan invited him out. Usually Gavin was the one fielding all of his attention, Team Nice Dynamite and all that. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought at first that the younger man was avoiding him but he’d quickly dismissed that idea; Michael would tell him if there was something wrong. At least, he kept telling himself that.

“It’s all good, I know Geoff’s been keeping you busy.”

Michael shrugged again, his shoulders stiff. He briefly scrunched his nose up a bit before he started slicing the cheese. That was on of his nervous ticks, Ryan knew. Was he that upset about having Ryan around? It made his gut clench tightly to think that he was that much of a bother. He could feel the tension in the air like static, heavy and pungent, and he desperately wanted to pull them out of the miasma of awkward that steamed around them. The problem was that Ryan didn’t know _how_ ; under the terrifying skull mask and face paint, he was still just an awkward guy, all flubbed words and off-color jokes. He didn’t _do_ comforting.

So he continued to sit there, watching Michael make their food, staring at the other man’s hands as they moved. Ryan loved Michael’s hands; they were broad, only slightly bony, and absolutely littered with scars. They were nimble and trigger-happy, though steady as a rock. Often, he would wake up after having dreamed about those hands and what they could do, his body covered in sweat and his heart pounding. He wanted nothing much more than to kiss every single mark on those fingers, to press his affection into the lad’s skin. It was the same with those freckles –

“Dude, you’re gonna get a permanent line between your eyes if you keep staring like that.”

Ryan jolted slightly in his seat, Michael’s words startling him from his daydream. He rubbed the heel of his palm on his forehead and tried to consciously relax his brows; he knew he tended to scowl when he thought too hard.

The lad set a plated sandwich down in front of him on the counter, a questioning look in his gaze. “Get a little lost there, buddy?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Ryan replied with a sigh. “Thanks for the grub.”

Michael shrugged again as he took a bite of his sandwich and responded with his mouth full. “Li’ I thed, it’th da leathed I could do.”

They ate in silence after that, Michael standing at the island and Ryan still seated on the other side. Ryan made sure to keep his eyes off of the lad’s hands and tried to keep his thoughts from wondering back. Not thinking about the person you’re in love with is extremely hard when said person is right in front of you though, so despite his best efforts, his mind always brought him back.

It was always like this, for Ryan, when the two were together; he could never fully separate himself from his affections. Over time, it became easier to mask his true feelings with general friendship but he always kind of felt like he was living a lie. But, no matter what, Ryan had vowed to hold it all in. He liked where he and Michael were, how close they’d become as friends, and didn’t want to risk scaring him off with how strongly he felt.

Ryan finished his sandwich first, so he stood up and made his way around the island to start cleaning up. He could feel Michael’s eyes on him as he moved around the kitchen and it brought a shiver to his spine. The lad really did have that much of an effect on him.

_Please stop looking at me, please stop looking at me…_

Michael popped the last bit of his meal in his mouth and pushed off from the counter, grabbing his dirty plate to put in the dishwasher. When he passed Ryan, he tucked himself close to the cabinets so he didn’t brush up against him. Nevertheless, the gent could feel the small space between them like it was a solid object, all hot and electric.

He was beginning to think that maybe he should have made Jeremy take his place; being this close to Michael was already starting to become too much.

“I need some air,” Michael announced, walking towards the elevator doors. “Gonna head to the roof.”

Drying his hands on a towel, Ryan nodded his head. “Ok.”

As soon as Michael left, Ryan dropped onto one of the couches in the massive open living room and shut his eyes tightly. A lingering tension still clung to his shoulders but without Michael in close proximity to him, he let his mind wander, going back to _those hands_ once more _._

_Fuck. This was a terrible idea._


	2. A Penny For Your Thoughts

The rooftop was Michael’s favorite place to come to when he needed to escape for a bit. He didn’t always have the time to drive all the way out into the privacy of the desert. The roof provided an excellent view of the city, especially during sunsets, and was high enough that the noise of the busy streets below didn’t get overwhelming. Several years previously, he and Gavin had smuggled a couple leather couches up there; in one of her fits of creativity, Lindsey had roped Jeremy into helping her build a small wood and corrugated metal shack with three walls and a roof to provide them cover. The crew had since then damaged them to all hell but they still used them religiously.

What could they say? They were really comfy couches.

This time, however, Michael stood at the edge of the building, arms resting on the waist-high wall that guarded the perimeter. From this vantage point, he could just make out the Ferris wheel down on the pier. The sun was close to the horizon and the neighboring skyscrapers were casting long shadows along the ground below. Several sea gulls flew overhead, their raucous calls bouncing off nearby windows. Michael tried to take comfort in the fact that no matter his circumstances, the world around him still went on the same as it always did.

A car backfired somewhere below and Michael flinched; it was hard to not be paranoid when one of the country’s most feared gangs was out for your head.

Several minutes passed before Michael heard the door behind him open. Judging by the almost silent footsteps, it was Ryan who was joining him on the roof; he was the quietest member of the crew despite being the biggest. Confirming his guess, the gent joined him at the railing, leaning against it casually. Michael couldn’t help but stare at him sideways from under his eyelashes. The sunlight hit him square in the face but he didn’t close his eyes, making them appear even more light blue and ice-like than normal. _He’s like some sort of Greek god,_ the lad thought. A slight breeze ruffled some loose pieces of blonde hair that had slipped from Ryan’s top knot. _It shouldn’t be allowed._

It startled him just a bit when the gent spoke, breaking him out of his gaze. “Sorry, I know you probably wanted to be up here alone but Geoff walked by after you left and demanded I follow you.” He sounded slightly regretful.

“It’s all good,” Michael replied. “Wouldn’t want you upsetting the big boss man, now would we?”

Ryan let out a soft snort and ducked his head. Quickly though, his face turned more serious. “He’s just worried, you know. Seems pretty worked up.”

Guilt flooded Michael’s chest. “I know. It’s looking like I got myself into some real shit this time...”

The two of them stood there in what Michael could only describe as semi-comfortable silence; he had a feeling that Ryan wasn’t quite up to speed on what was happening but he wasn’t so sure that he wanted him to know about the type of people he used to associate with. Which, given that Ryan himself was essentially one of those things that goes bump in the night, was a bit silly, the lad reasoned to himself. And yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous that the older man would think less of him.

Michael glanced over at Ryan, his hands twining nervously together. In the end, he decided to tell him; it was better for him to be prepared than not.

“Did Geoff – Uh, did Geoff tell you guys exactly what was going on?”

Ryan stared off into the city, eyes wary as he kept watch. “He wasn’t super detailed but he said something about some particularly lousy people putting a mark on you. Figured it was another crew in the city trying to start something and he didn’t want you getting caught alone.” He made a slightly guilty face. “I kinda tried to listen in at the door earlier but I only caught the tail end of the conversation, so...”

Michael let out a bark of laughter, his arms moving to rest on the balcony wall as he bowed his head. “Figured as much. He didn’t wanna get everyone worked up.” He could feel Ryan’s gaze move to him, his body shifting slightly.

“Ok, so enlighten me then; what exactly am I supposed to watch out for? Might be good for me to be a bit more equipped for the situation.”

Michael closed his eyes, mind going back to his earlier conversation with Geoff. He took a steadying breath; Ryan wouldn’t judge him. “It’s my old crew, from Jersey; I guess they found out I’d actually faked my death and decided to come pay me a visit.”

Without even looking, he knew Ryan had that confused puppy look on him again.

“Well, that doesn’t seem so bad,” he said.

“I wish that were the case,” Michael responded. Only Geoff knew where he really came from, who he used to work with; he had hoped that he could keep all of that in his past, away from his crew. He finally opened his eyes and turned to face the older man. Looking into his eyes ( _god,_ _he’s_ _so fucking beautiful_ _)_ , he steeled himself and began to explain. “You know anything about the Jersey Devils?” he asked.

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you ran with them.” Michael grimaced and stiffly nodded his head. “Holy fuck, Michael, those guys are _nasty_!”

“Ha! That’s rich, coming from the Vagabond.”

“I’m serious, Michael; they’re not a crew I would mess with. I’m just glad they’re on the other side of the country.” He squinted. “Wait, _that’s_ who’s coming after you?? Holy shit...”

Michael smiled humorlessly. “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty fucked, right? Guess that’s why Geoff was so pleased that he got you on board; who better to deter some baddies than the grim reaper himself?”

Ryan took a step towards Michael, his right hand going up to grip his shoulder tightly. That same spark from before rippled through his body at the touch.

“Nobody is getting anywhere near you, you got that? I won’t let them.”

Michael’s smile softened a bit. “I know buddy, you’ve got my back. Thanks.”

Ryan stared at him for a few moments longer, his gaze flicking back and forth between Michael’s eyes. He gave a curt nod, awkwardly patted his shoulder, and moved back to his position by the wall, looking back over the city again. Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the warmth from Ryan’s hand still lingering on his arm.

They stayed like that, arms on the railing and just a couple feet between them, for a few minutes longer, while the sun slowly sank over the Pacific. Long, wispy clouds stretched across to the horizon and glowed in vibrant pinks and oranges. Some band was playing at the stadium downtown and their loud music could just be heard over the usual sounds of the city, the faint but familiar blaring of a police car weaving in and out of the noise. In another universe, on another timeline, this could have been romantic, Michael thought hopelessly.

The chilly winter air whipped around their clothes as the wind picked up slightly; Michael tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets and let a shiver run its course through his body. With a glance his way, Ryan stepped back and turned towards the door.

“We should head in; it’s getting pretty col-” Ryan cut himself off abruptly as he lunged forward, grabbing Michael by the front of his sweatshirt and tugging him to the ground.

Michael let out an _oof_ as his chest collided with his knees. “Ryan, what the _fuck_?!”

Without answering, the older man shoved Michael against the rooftop walls. His face was so close that Michael could feel his breath on his face. If he wasn’t so damned confused, he would have probably been freaking out. Currently though, he was too preoccupied by the practically crushing weight of Ryan and the ache in his ribs.

“Seriously, Rye, what the hell was that for?”

“Saw a laser sight,” the gent replied gruffly. His breathe smelled like the chicken pasta that Jack had made them all for dinner.

Michael felt his whole body freeze; a laser sight meant someone had eyes on them on the roof, and that somebody was probably a sniper. Pulse pounding, he looked over Ryan’s shoulder to see if it was still there, up on the wall or something, but he couldn’t see anything. He felt Ryan shift so he could grab out his phone and dial the crew. Gavin’s voice picked up on the other line; Ryan was so close that Michael could clearly hear what the younger lad was saying.

“ _Hey, Rye-Bread, what’s up?_ ”

Gavin ran all of the high tech surveillance equipment around the penthouse, including the cameras that monitored the surrounding buildings. If anyone had hope of finding where the potential sniper was, it was Gav and his computers.

Ryan moved so he was sitting next to Michael instead of crouching over him. “I’m with Michael on the roof and I just saw a sniper dot; we’re on the west side of the roof.”

“ _Wot?!”_ Michael heard movement on the other end of the line as Gavin shouted something to whoever he was with. “ _Right, let me_ _just turn this on…y_ _ou still see it?”_

“Negative, we can’t see it anywhere.” Ryan quickly looked at Michael for confirmation before resuming his scan of the roof. “We’re about twenty feet from the door but there’s no cover. Can we be seen from any other angle?”

Gavin was on his computer now; Michael could hear the tell-tale clacking of his keyboard. “ _Hold on,_ _I’m not even sure where they’re shoot_ _i_ _– there! Found ‘em! Fredo, they’re in the big shiny blue one, six floors from the top, nine window_ _s_ _from the left!”_

“Gav, can we be seen from any other angle?” Ryan practically growled.

“G _ive us_ _a sec,_ _Alfredo’s getting in position_ _,_ ” came the reply. Thirty seconds later, a loud _CRACK_ echoed out from somewhere below them. Michael could just barely hear the sound of shattering glass. “ _Nice one, Fredie!”_

“Did they get ‘em?” Michael asked. Ryan looked directly into his eyes as he spoke to Gavin.

“Gav, we good or what?”

“ _You should be alright,_ ” he replied, voice light. “ _You got my boi with you, all safe?”_

Ryan’s face visibly relaxed. “He’s all good. We’re coming down now. Thanks Gavin.”

“ _I’ll keep scanning the area._ ” There was a brief pause as Alfredo could be heard speaking. “ _Seriously??”_ Gavin sounded very confused.

“What’s wrong, Gavin?” Ryan demanded.

“ _Well, uh, Fredo has just informed me that the other guy didn’t have a sniper.”_

It was Ryan’s turn to sound perplexed. “What do you mean? I saw the dot!”

“ _No gun, just, uh, the laser sight, apparently?_ ”

Michael closed his eyes with a grimace; of course there was no actual gun. The Devils didn’t want to just kill him, they wanted to mess with him first. It was completely in their style.

“They like to play with their food,” he said with forced calm. Ryan stared at him, mouth slightly open.

Gavin’s voice on the other line seemed to snap him out of it. “ _What was that?”_

“Uh, nothing, Michael was just saying that it sounds like someone’s messing with us.”

“ _Riiight. Well, you’re still clear to go, whenever you’re ready. I’ve got eyes on the windows!”_

“Thanks Gav.”

Ryan hung up and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Their arms were pressed tightly against each other and Michael could feel the older man’s body warmth through his sweatshirt. He swallowed thickly.

Before Michael could come up with something to say, something to maybe lighten the mood, Ryan sighed and pulled himself into a crouch. “I know Gav said we were in the clear but we’re still gonna run to the door.” He spared a quick glance at Michael. “You ready?”

Michael nodded.

“On three then.” He waited till the lad got into a crouch before starting his count. “One, two, three!”

The two of them launched off the wall towards the rooftop door, Ryan two steps behind Michael. He ripped the door open once he got to it, racing inside and slamming it shut as soon as the gent made it inside with him. Lightly panting, he leaned his body against the closed door. When he looked at Ryan, the other man’s eyebrows were furrowed and he was staring at Michael with an unreadable expression.

“We gotta make sure you’re not out in the open anymore,” he said, his eyes never leaving Michael’s face. “Even if they were just messing with you this time, it was stupid of me to let you be so exposed, especially now that I know who’s after you.”

The lad shrugged tightly, ignoring the hot feeling in his belly at the intensity of Ryan’s stare. “It’s not your fault, Rye.”

Ryan sighed, his eyes dropping from Michael’s face. _Oh, thank god._ “Yeah, well, we need to be more careful.”

Michael tried for a nonchalant tone. “So, no more roof?”

“No more roof.”

………………………………………………………………………

“Jeremy, I can’t do it, you gotta take my place,” Ryan pleaded as he barged into the lad’s room unannounced. He immediately went to the bed and fell face-first onto it, his feet sticking off the end.

Without looking up from his computer, Jeremy gave a heavy sigh. “What happened now? Geoff demand you watch Michael in the shower too?”

Ryan whipped his head to stare aghast at his best friend. “Wha- No!” He sputtered. Then he looked mildly panicked and a flush began to creep onto his cheeks. “Wait, Geoff wouldn’t make me do that, right??”

Jeremy finally looked up from his screen to face the man on his bed. Ryan legitimately looked concerned and Jeremy couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his expense. This whole thing was quite absurd, if you asked him.

“No, Rye, he’s not gonna make you watch Michael in the shower.” Ryan seemed visibly comforted by his statement. Jeremy smirked mischievously and turned back to his computer. “But I bet if you asked Michael himself, he might let you in there with him.”

Behind him, Ryan let out an undignified and quite Gavin-like squawk as he protested Jeremy’s sentiment.

Honestly though, he was getting kind of tired of watching the two other men dance around each other; he knew for a fact that Ryan was basically head over heals for the lad, and he had some pretty strong evidence that Michael reciprocated those feelings. It was frustrating seeing two of his closest friends pine after each other without ever doing anything about it. Things were so bad that even Gavin had noticed. Gavin! They’d placed a bet on who would make a move first; Jeremy was riding on Ryan getting his shit together or he was down a hundred bucks.

“Ryan, seriously, you gotta talk to him,” he admonished. “I don’t want to spend the next couple weeks listening to you wax poetic about the way he shoots a gun.”

A low grumble came from the bed as Ryan rolled over onto his back. “I can’t! If I tell him and things go wrong – which they will, absolutely – I’ll still have to be around him and that would _kill me_! And I don’t wax poetic!”

“You’re right, you flub your words too much to be poetic. But you don’t know that things will go bad! Michael’s crew, he’s not going to be shitty to you if you tell him how you feel.”

“I do know that!” Ryan exclaimed, his hands flailing into the air above him. “He doesn’t like me like that; we’re just friends!”

Jeremy spun around in his chair to fully stare at Ryan. “Oh come on, Rye, how can you be so sure that he doesn’t feel even a little bit the same? You’re not in his head.”

The gent’s arms flopped back onto the bed. There was a pained expression on his face. “Because,” he started, hesitating before continuing in a soft voice. “Because people don’t fall in love with monsters...”

 _Not this again..._ “Oh, cut the shit, Ryan; you’re no more a monster than the rest of us. And Michael would be the first person to say the same thing!”

Ryan just shut his eyes tightly and hugged his arms across his chest. He looked so small, so different from his normal broody self, that Jeremy felt a twinge in his chest. He let out another deep sigh, got up from his desk, and made his way to the bed. The lad dropped himself down next to Ryan with a grunt, careful of his elbows as he tucked his arms behind his head. When the gent didn’t say anything, Jeremy gave him a small kick in the calf.

“Hey, come on Rye, you can’t drag yourself down like this,” he reasoned. “Besides, in Beauty and the Beast, the guy is a _literal monster_ and he still gets the girl in the end. There’s hope for you yet.”

There was no movement from the other man, though his arms seemed to be less tense than before; Jeremy took that as a win. He would never out Michael without his permission but he was so close to letting something slip. It was tough to see his best friend fall apart over something like this, something that could be easily solved if one of them would just _talk_ to the other. On the other hand though, Jeremy knew how hard it could be to tell someone you had feelings for them, especially if they were your friends. And the Fakes were _family_ , so that just added to the potential awkwardness of it all. It was just so obvious though that both Michael and Ryan felt the same about each other that is was hard to feel much sympathy.

“Come on, Rye,” Jeremy tried again. He tapped his shin again with his foot, letting it rest there for comfort. “Seriously dude, do you honestly think Michael would hold it against you?”

“I don’t know,” came the gent’s mumbled reply. “He might.”

“He wouldn’t and you know it.”

Ryan grumbled some more, moving his hands to scrub at his face. “I just can’t risk it, not right now especially, not with the Jersey Devil’s breathing down our necks.”

A shiver ran up Jeremy’s spine at the mention of the other crew. Minutes after the rooftop disaster a few hours previously, Geoff had finally let the rest of the Fakes in on who was after Michael and it had left an especially sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t know how his fellow lad had gotten himself mixed up with that lot but he would be damned if he let them touch him. There was some sense then in waiting to talk to him, he supposed; no need for extra distractions. Then again, what said whirlwind romance more than confessing your love to someone while being hunted down by one of the country’s most dangerous gangs?

“Alright buddy,” Jeremy acquiesced. “I’ll leave you alone about it. For now.” He sat up and lightly flicked Ryan’s forehead before getting off the bed. “Just promise me that if the right opportunity presents itself, you won’t be too scared to tell him.”

Resignation presented itself on Ryan’s face as he pulled himself into a slouch at the edge of the bed. “Ok,” he agreed. “I’ll try.”

Jeremy smiled at his friend and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good enough for now.”

Just then, Michael’s voice could be heard calling Ryan’s name from down the hall.

“AY, Ryan! Heist prep time! Get your ass out here so I can get going!”

Without even looking at Jeremy, Ryan leapt up off the bed and sped through the bedroom door, shouting back to Michael that he was on his way. He could hear the other lad saying something about if he was gonna be a chaperon, the least he could do was be on time. Jeremy smiled and shook his head, grabbing his purple jacket before exiting his room to meet Alfredo for their portion of the prep. In front of the elevator, he joined Fredo in watching Michael berate the gent for his time keeping skills while the other just stood there with his hand behind his head looking properly meek.

_Th_ _e_ _se idiots, I_ _swear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BATTLE BUDDIES FOREVER, AMIRIGHT?
> 
> Please come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)


	3. You Had Me In Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, meant to have this up a week ago, sorry about that! Hope you all enjoy!

There was a noticeable silver lining for Michael in this whole mess: he was still allowed to participate in the heist. He was pretty damn sure that if Geoff had banned him, he would have gone completely insane. Boredom was his biggest enemy for sure. Currently, he was seated in a “borrowed” car with Ryan, his now constant companion – not like he was complaining, really – parked in some bushes outside the Humane Labs. Their part of the prep involved securing some important data from the secure servers located deep within the facility. Ryan had his sniper sticking out of the driver’s side window and was surveying the guard house through the scope. They were waiting for the change in guard so they could take out the new one and have maximum time to get in and get out.

It had only been about twenty minutes but Michael was already beginning to feel restless. Neither of them had a said a word since they had parked the car and the silence was getting to him. He knew that Ryan wasn’t really much of a talker during heist mode, being the hyper-focused kind of guy that he was, but something about this night, in this car, was causing the back of Michael’s head to itch.

As if reading his mind, Ryan finally spoke. “Do you think our brain cells know they named themselves?”

“Dude, what?” he asked with a short laugh. “Have you been hanging out with Gavin too much?”

Ryan didn’t turn around but Michael swore could hear a small smile in his voice. “I’m serious! I mean, the brain is the only organ that named itself!”

“Ryan, oh my god, no, that’s fucking stupid.” He was fully laughing now.

“But I mean, seriously, think about it-”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there, Rye; there is nothing you can say to me right now that will make me think that isn’t the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Michael, you wound me!”

He could hear definitely hear the grin in Ryan’s words now. It felt good to be laughing with him; it felt right. _This_ is what he was wanted, no matter his feelings.

“I’m never letting you watch _Osmosis Jones_ again,” he warned the gent.

This earned him a small snort. “That was your pick for movie night, remember?”

“I know, and I’m regretting it now!”

“It’s a good movie!”

Michael’s stomach hurt from laughing. Tears had begun to form at the corners of his eyes by the time he could calm himself down. He watched Ryan and could see his shoulders shake slightly with his own low chuckle, still ever focused on the task at hand. But then the gent turned briefly to smile at him and Michael was _stunned_ _;_ he had never seen Ryan look so soft, so _fond_ , and it almost hurt his heart with how much it made him feel. It was only for a split second but the image was burned into his mind. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud he was worried Ryan would hear it from the other side of the car.

Suddenly, the air in the vehicle became too heavy for Michael, too much _._ It felt like one more minute alone with Ryan and his addictive laughter might actually kill the younger man. _He has no idea what he does to me,_ he thought desperately, his hand reaching for the door handle. Just as Michael was about to open it and escape into the cool night air, Ryan shifted ever so slightly in his seat and took a shot. Even with the suppressor, the loud crack still startled Michael.

“Warn a guy, would ya?” He growled, rubbing his left ear.

Ryan finally turned around, pulling his gun into the car. He looked only a little guilty as he started to take apart the rifle. “Sorry, I had the perfect shot and I had to take it.”

In lieu of answering, Michael grunted loudly, grabbed the handle again, and opened his door. It was cold and he was glad he’d remembered to pull on a long sleeved shirt under his stealth clothes before they had left the penthouse. Ryan soon joined him outside and they both went around to the trunk to pull out the materials they needed; several clips of ammo were loaded onto their belts along with their silenced weapons. They each double checked their weapons and suits. Before shutting the trunk, Ryan grabbed a small device resembling a hard drive and tucked it into a pouch at his hip.

“What’s that?” Michael inquired.

Ryan’s eyes lit up at the question. “Oh! It’s what Gav and I have been working on for a few weeks. It should make things way easier when we get to the server room; basically, it takes the-”

Michael couldn’t focus on what the gent was saying; he was so damn cute when he was excited about something! Ryan could talk about tech stuff for hours if allowed, and would often do so with Gavin or Matt, but Michael never had the attention span for it. But watching Ryan while he spoke passionately on and on about whatever new fancy piece of technology he was currently working on or obsessed with? Oh yeah, Michael could do that forever. He had to focus to keep the dopey grin off his face though; he had an image to uphold.

While he spoke, Ryan shut the trunk and began walking in the direction of the gatehouse. Michael stared at him without shame; those stealth suits really did wonders for a person’s, uh, _assets._

“-and I think that’ll really come in handy, don’t you agree?”

Michael had to shake his head a little before replying. “Yeah, uh, sure sounds like it.” He moved to follow.

The older man looked amused when he turned to look at Michael. “You didn’t listen to anything I just said, did you?”

“Psh, of course I did!” Michael slid his night vision goggles on. “You and Gavvy built some new toy and you’re excited to test it out and see if it works.”

Ryan just chuckled in response, that strange fond look back in his eyes before he too put on his goggles. “Oh, it’ll work, don’t worry.”

……………………………………………………

The rest of the night went smoothly; the two got in, downloaded the data they needed, and got out with very little resistance. Michael only had to take down one guard who made the unfortunate mistake of moving to take a piss in one of the outside alleys they needed access to. Ryan had given him a knowing look, saying _“_ _There’s a bathroom right inside; he deserved that, the heathen.”_ They had shoved his body in a dumpster and continued on. Inside the server room, Gav and Ryan’s new instrument worked perfectly, uploading the required files in record time and without setting off any alarms. The gent had just smiled smugly at Michael; he knew it would work. He wasn’t positive, since they were both still wearing their goggles, but Ryan was pretty sure that the lad rolled his eyes at him.

They were back at the penthouse now, waiting for the rest of the crew to return. Ryan was still filled with that quiet hum of energy that he always felt after completing a successful mission. He smiled absentmindedly as he lounged on one of the big couches facing the windows, one leg hanging off, heist clothes still on. Michael’s voice could be heard from down the hall as he sung in the shower; it was all terribly out of tune but it made Ryan’s smile grow nonetheless.

Then again, almost everything Michael did made him smile these days.

Michael’s ever colorful vocabulary, Michael’s goofy laugh when Gavin told a bad joke, Michael’s unsubtle attempts to insinuate himself into the kitchen when Jack was cooking; Michael, Michael, _Michael._ Despite his brash attitude and short fuse, he was one of the most genuine people he had ever met – not that he got the chance to meet very many genuine people in his line of work but even the Vagabond had come from humble origins. There was just something about the younger man that pulled Ryan in, again and again.

But Ryan also knew that none of what he wanted would ever become reality; no matter how good of a pep-talker Jeremy was, there was still no way that someone like Michael could ever feel anything for a monster like him. These were simple facts. Sure, they were both part of the same crew and they both had blood all over their hands but there was just no getting rid of the skeletons in Ryan’s – in the _Vagabond’s –_ closet. Heisting together was as close as they were going to get. And Ryan was ok with that, he really was, as long as he was still able to be around him; he just wanted to exist in Michael’s atmosphere, to be there by his side when he needed him, if he’d allow it.

So yeah, he was alright with where they were, where they would remain. And after such a well-executed prep mission? He could dutifully ignore the dull feeling of grief that festered deep in his gut for a bit longer.

“You ok there, Rye?”

He hadn’t even heard the water to the shower stop.

“Wha-? Oh, yeah, uh,” Ryan shook his head slightly to try and clear it. “Yeah, I’m good?”

Michael gave him a questioning look as he walked by on his way to the kitchen. His curly hair was still wet from the shower and drops of water slipped onto the collar of his loose N64 t-shirt. Black sweatpants hung low around his hips. _Oh._

“You had quite the stare going,” he said.

“Just thinking,” Ryan answered. “The mission went damn well.”

Michael shot him a wide grin, dimples on full display. “Hell yeah it did! We’re a great fuckin’ team!”

A quick jolt of pleasure shot through Ryan at those words but he quickly pushed it away. Objectively, the two of them _were_ a great team; there was no need to make it mean anything else.

In the kitchen, Michael busied himself with rooting through the cupboards. It was his post-mission ritual to find a snack and curl up on the couch to watch a movie. Anybody was welcome to join, Ryan knew, and had done so a few times himself. Tonight seemed like as good a time as any to do so again. He pulled himself from the couch with a low groan and wandered over to the fridge to help make food.

When Michael gave him a raised eyebrow in question, Ryan pointed to the pantry. “Grab the peanut butter; I’m gonna slice some apples.”

With another dimpled smile, Michael did as suggested, pulling out a large container of peanut butter. He then snagged a big spoon from one of the island drawers, as well as a plastic bowl. While Ryan grabbed out a couple apples from the fridge, the younger man carelessly spooned globs of peanut butter into the bowl, getting it all over his hands in the process. It was endlessly endearing.

Forcing himself to look away from the spectacle, Ryan took a knife from the block on the counter and began to cut the apples into thin slices. He had gotten through one and was working on the second when he made the mistake of glancing up at Michael; the lad had his fingers in his open mouth and was using his tongue to clean them of errant peanut butter. He choked a bit on his own breath and could feel a warmth build in his gut, as well as at the tips of his ears and back of his neck. This was _far_ too much for his heart to handle.

Michael’s gaze suddenly met his and all he could do was quickly look down. Which, really, he should have been doing this whole time because _wow_ that was a lot of blood. Michael seemed to notice too.

“Holy shit, Ryan!” he shouted.

And yeah, that was definitely the correct response to the deep slice Ryan had dug into the side of his left pointer finger, right along the meat of the palm. It wasn’t long but it was deep and boy, did it bleed. The knife had been so sharp and Ryan so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed the blade making contact with his skin. The aftermath, however, was pretty damn obvious.

All Ryan could think about was how he had ruined the post-mission snack.

Michael, on the other hand, was all business. While Ryan just stood and stared at his bleeding hand, he quickly washed his hands in the sink and grabbed a hand towel, chucking it at the gent’s right arm.

“Put pressure on it, ya idiot!” He growled. “I’ll be right back with the med kit.”

With Michael stomping off to the bathroom for the medical supplies, Ryan finally snapped out of his stupor. He wrapped the towel around his hand tightly and squeezed; it stung like a bitch. A heavy sigh left him as he glared at his hands. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Before his mind could be taken over by his own negative thoughts, Michael came walking back into the room, med kit in hand. It was a big blue box with several latched drawers. Jack had meticulously organized and stocked it to deal with everything from small cuts to minor gunshot wounds, saying that she didn’t want any of them to be without supplies, no matter the situation. All of the crew had at one time or another had to utilize it on either themselves or another teammate. Someone – Ryan suspected Lindsey – had written “we love you, mama Jack!” on the top in curly handwriting.

Gently, more so than Ryan thought him capable of, Michael took his injured hand in his own and steered him toward the sink. He unwrapped the towel, turned the water on low, and began to lightly wash the cut with little swipes of his fingers. A familiar scowl was plastered on his face and Ryan couldn’t help but stare at the little crease between his eyebrows.

Once he was satisfied with the rinsing, Michael turned the faucet off and re-wrapped the towel around Ryan’s hand while he dug through the med kit for peroxide and stitching supplies. When he pulled them out, Ryan grimaced; this was his least favorite part about wound treatment.

Michael noticed his change of expression. “You deserve this; how’d you even cut yourself that bad anyway? You’re supposed to be the knife expert!” His voice wasn’t quite accusatory enough to cause alarm.

“It, uh, slipped,” Ryan answered. _Awesome, very eloquent, good job!_

“Regular old word smith over here,” Michael said dryly. “Ryan the word guy.”

A familiar warmth spread over the back of Ryan’s neck. It really wasn’t helping that Michael was back to using his (surprisingly) gentle hands to remove the towel again, their many calluses brushing slightly against his fingers. He had never experienced this side of the younger man before; he was, for lack of a better term, _breathtaking._ It made his stomach flutter.

The instant the peroxide hit his skin, however, Ryan gasped for a whole other reason; that shit _burns._ A short grunt escaped him as he tried to maintain some sort of composure; judging by the small chuckle from Michael though, he was unsuccessful.

“Sorry, buddy,” Michael said in a low, calm voice, all the sarcasm from earlier gone.

Finished with the cleaning, the lad moved on to stitching the still slightly bleeding wound closed. Since they weren’t necessarily the most beloved people in Los Santos, it behooved the Fakes to learn how to patch themselves up instead of trying to frighten some poor hospital staff members into taking care of them while the cops inevitably tracked them down. So, Ryan trusted Michael to know what he was doing. It didn’t make him happier to be on the receiving end of the needle but it was better than the alternatives.

In order to distract himself from the stick and sting of the needle and thread, Ryan focused on Michael’s face. They were so close that he was able to count the number of freckles on the lad’s cheeks, could really see the different shades of brown in his eyes. The little wrinkle between his brows was back. The most adorable thing by far, however, was the little bit of pink tongue he could see sticking out from between Michael’s lips as he focused on making his stitches even and tight. It did funny things to Ryan’s heart.

“Right, ok, those should hold for now.” Michael’s words once again tore Ryan from his stare. “I’m just going to put a bandage on your hand now; don’t ruin it in the shower or something, ok?”

Ryan just nodded in response, too caught up in watching him wrap a fresh white bandage around his hand. He was still being so careful, so soft with his touches. This was a man who could knock you out with a single punch, who feared nothing, and yet here he was, treating Ryan like a delicate flower. It was really throwing the gent for a loop.

When he was done, Michael started to clean up the mess left behind on the cutting board.

“Wait,” Ryan interrupted. “I’ll do that; it’s my blood. You, uh, grab another apple.”

With a shrug, Michael put down the washcloth he had been using and went to the fridge to finish preparing their food. Ryan threw away the bloody apples – he didn’t suppose Geoff would want them in the compost he used in his rooftop garden – and started to wash down the counter. After being rinsed, the cutting board and knife were put in the sink with hot soapy water to be washed thoroughly later. By the time he was done, Michael had finished slicing the last apple and put all of the pieces into another bowl.

Ryan grabbed a diet coke and a bottle of beer from the fridge before following the lad back to the couches. He set their drinks down on the coffee table and let himself fall back into his seat. Michael put the food with the drinks and sat down at the other end of the couch, picking up an x-box controller as he went. With a nonchalance that said he clearly didn’t know what kinds of emotions he had been putting Ryan through for the past ten or so minutes, he flipped through their Netflix to find something to watch.

“Comedy or Action?” He asked without looking away from the screen.

Ryan’s hand throbbed along with his heartbeat. “Whatever you want.”

With a grunt, Michael clicked on some mindless action flick with The Rock in it. Just a minute in, the elevator doors chimed and Alfredo and Jeremy entered the penthouse. Ryan could hear them chattering as they made their way down the hall to the living room. Upon seeing the two of them sitting on the couches, Jeremy immediately spoke up.

“Everything go well, I take it?”

Michael finally looked up, a cocky grin on his face. “’course it did! Who do you think we are?”

“Right, sorry,” Jeremy said with a laugh.

“How’d it go on your end?”  
“Fredo and I are fuckin’ expert shots, my man, how do you _think_ it went?”

The two lads high-fived as Jeremy walked by before flopping gracelessly into one of the other couches.

From behind them, Ryan heard Alfredo give a tiny gasp. “Oh! Apples and peanut butter? Hell yeah!”

Without warning, the tall lad vaulted over the couch Ryan and Michael were seated at and plonked right down between them. He instantly reached for an apple slice, a huge innocent smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan could see Jeremy giving Alfredo a subtle shake of the head; he promptly stood back up and moved to another seat.

“Boots off the fuckin’ furniture!” Michael shouted when Alfredo attempted to stick his feet up on the coffee table. “What’re you, a fuckin’ animal?”

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh quietly to himself at the sight of Alfredo’s terrified expression and Jeremy’s full-blown cackle. And when he looked back at Michael, he felt his smile soften. It was so good to see him like this after all of the shit that went down earlier that day, so quintessentially _Michael_ that it made his chest flutter. He was there, _right_ there, and Ryan got to bare witness to it, just like he wanted to.

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? He was so close but he knew he couldn’t touch. It felt a little bit like he was burning up from the inside with how powerful his feelings for Michael were. Maybe Jeremy was right, maybe he really did need to tell Michael how he felt, at least to ease the ache. Telling him the truth couldn’t possibly hurt more than this torture.

Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a piece of trash come follow me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com) for more bullshit.


	4. Voices of Doubt

The morning of the day before the heist, Michael awoke to the sound of excited shouting coming from the living room. He grumbled before reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. When he checked his phone, it said it was only 8:30 in the morning.

“What the fuck are they doing...” He growled before forcing himself out of his bed and making his way to his door, still in his pajamas. As he started walking down the hallway, it became clear that there were several people in the main area of the penthouse, all of them talking loudly over each other. When he made it to the archway to the living room, a very tired looking but very much alive Trevor was being embraced by Alfredo and Gavin simultaneously, their collective gaggle of limbs practically engulfing him. The large grin on his face said he really didn’t mind though.

“Michael Boi!” Gavin shouted from his place on Trevor’s left side. “Look who’s back!”

Michael couldn’t help the smile that took over his features as he took in the scene. “Good to have you back, man.”

“It’s good to be back,” Trevor replied.

Geoff and Jack were standing off to the side but still close by, watching with fondness in their eyes, as Jeremy was loudly describing all the things Trevor had missed while he had been in hiding. Ryan stood on the other side of the room, looking at – Michael?

The look Ryan was giving him was hard to read, almost a mix of incredulity and awe, with a sprinkle of confusion added in. Michael looked down at himself; had he forgotten to put on pants? No, his sweats were still on, and he was wearing a shirt. Was it his hair? He reached up to run his hand through his messy bed head. At that, Ryan’s eyes widened a fraction and he shook his head, shifting his gaze to the scene in front of him.

_Is it just me or are his cheeks a little pink?_

He stared at the gent, disregarding how obvious he was being.

_No, he’s definitely blushing._

_W_ _ait, what?_

There was a confused sort of fluttering in his belly as he stared at Ryan’s face. Sure enough, his cheeks got progressively pinker, almost like he could feel Michael’s eyes on him. And then, the gent looked up at him again and Michael could feel _his_ face getting heated. To hide his embarrassment at getting caught, he quickly turned and walked into the kitchen. When he glanced back again, Ryan was watching the other lads, the blush still spread across his pale features. The fluttering in his belly expanded and a tiny spark of hope made its home in his chest. Try as he might, Michael couldn’t push this one away.

Realizing he was staring again, Michael turned back to the kitchen and began prepping the coffee maker, the busy work keeping his mind off of Ryan for a few minutes. When it began to percolate and the smell of fresh coffee spread throughout the penthouse, Geoff wandered into the kitchen, mug already in hand.

“Ah, perfect timing; I was just beginning to crave that sweet, sweet bean water.”

Michael chuckled. “I prefer the term ‘life juice’.”

“Also an applicable name.”

The two joined in a companionable silence while they waited for the coffee pot to fill. Despite the general happy energy that existed all around him, Michael couldn’t help but feel his nerves twitching, the steadily building paranoia that had grown in his head since receiving the news about the Devils waking up along with him. Eventually, Gavin found his way to the kitchen as well, draping himself over his shoulders; he could always seem to tell when Michael was beginning to feel anxious. It was a kind of sixth sense and was part of the reason why he let the Brit get away with so much clinginess.

“Boi, did you make some for me?”

Michael shifted so Gavin’s arm wasn’t completely closing off his airway – _he’s like a fucking spider monkey_. “No Gavin, I made this entire pot of coffee but you don’t get any.”

There was a short squawk from somewhere between his shoulder blades. “Mi-cool, don’t be mean!”

“Get off, you big baby, there’s plenty for everyone.” Despite the gruffness of his voice, there was no real venom in Michael’s words. “Make yourself useful and grab down some mugs for everyone.”

Gavin pulled himself away and did just that. Michael would never admit to anyone, not even (especially) Gavin himself, but he actually enjoyed how touchy his best friend was; his fellow lad was open with his affections and made it clear as day who the people he cared for were. He was loyal to a fault and wickedly clever, dangerous to those who wronged him or his friends but open and silly when he was at home. And maybe, just maybe, Michael was secretly proud that he was the recipient of more physical affection than the others. But don’t let Gavin know that; he’d never hear the end of it.

Michael gave him a light hip check as he walked by him to the fridge. Gavin shot him a crooked grin and a wink in response.

The rest of the morning was, more or less, normal, though there was a general cheerfulness with Trevor home. Michael ended up making a second pot of coffee while Jack cooked breakfast for everyone. It was sort of a tradition for the crew to all come together for a big dinner the night before heist day, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to do breakfast too. Jeremy even forewent his morning work out routine to spend the time with them. Everything combined put an ease to Michael’s nerves, calming him almost to where he was before this whole mess started. It felt good to be surrounded by his friends, to know that they were all ok.

Throughout breakfast though, Michael noticed that Trevor kept glancing over at him, something conflicted in his gaze. Michael knew he would have to talk to him, find out what happened between him and the Devils. All he knew was that they had found him at his home, where he lived when he wasn’t staying in his apartment one floor down from the penthouse. Beyond that, Michael was sure they had put the fear of god in him; he knew how ‘persuasive’ they could be when they wanted something.

So, while Ryan and Jeremy were washing the dishes and Gavin had gone off with Jack and Geoff to do some last minute preparations, Michael quietly pulled Trevor into the empty heist room. When he turned to face him after shutting the door, Trevor just looked so _tired;_ he had dark circles under his eyes and the remains of a healing split lip, and his shoulders were hunched inward, almost like he was trying to shrink into himself. A pang of guilt shot through Michael at the sight.

This never would have happened if it weren’t for him.

“I’m so sorry, Trev,” Michael whispered with his head down, trying to convey the depth of his apology without actually meeting Trevor’s eyes.

“This wasn’t your fault, Michael.”

“Yeah, well, it kinda was, wasn’t it? I mean, they _are_ my old crew, after all. They wouldn’t even _be_ in Los Santos if I wasn’t.”

“You’re not a Jersey Devil anymore, Michael, haven’t been for years.” Trevor took a small step forward, crossing his arms and bending down slightly to look up at Michael’s face. He was frowning slightly. “They told me about you, you know; how you didn’t like the way they ran things, how you faked your own death to move out here. You’ve been gone for almost a decade, man, you left that shit behind you.”

There was something heavy in Michael’s gut. “It still feels like shit, knowing that I’m the reason they’re here. I should have said something, let you guys know about ‘em before they became a problem.”

Trevor set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Nobody’s blaming you; we’re all just _worried_ about you.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Hell, they scared the ever living shit outta me and all I could think was how pissed off you were gonna be when you found out.”

“I _am_ pissed!” Michael could feel the pressure on his chest easing up, Trevor’s constant contact with his shoulder grounding him. He raised his head to look at his friend again. “I’m pissed off and wanna kick their asses for even _thinking_ about coming near my crew.”

Trevor grinned, a real smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Now there’s my Mogar.” He slapped Michael’s shoulder once before moving toward the door. “Come on, I need someone to fill me in on all the heist details for tomorrow.”

With a small answering smile, Michael followed him out of the room and back into the main penthouse. His mood quickly turned sour upon stepping into the living room though; there was a crackling on the penthouse-wide overhead speaker system that Gavin had installed, and then an unknown voice began to speak. It felt like an ice spike had been driven into his heart when Michael recognized the voice.

“ _Hello, boys and girls, this is the voice of god speaking_.”

This was the voice of his former boss. _Dante._

“ _Now I bet you’re all wondering why I gathered you all here today_.” His accent was unmistakable, nasal and so inter-city Jersey that it hurt. “ _Well, I’ve called you to let you in on a little secret me and my boys have uncovered.”_

Across the room, Jeremy was standing stock still, his face pale and stony. Ryan was right behind him, fury written all over his features.

“ _You see, I figured you’d want to know that your security measures are, well,_ lacking _in some departments.”_

A loud ‘shit!’ could be heard coming from inside Geoff’s office. Gavin came bursting out and ran towards his own office where all of his computer equipment was.

“Find out where they’re calling from, right now!” Geoff shouted after him, soon appearing in the doorway.

“ _I wouldn’t worry too much about it though,”_ Dante said with a laugh. “ _We already know where you are, where you might go. There’s really no use trying to hide.”_

The nasty feeling in Michael’s chest only got worse the more Dante – the more this _monster –_ spoke. He was brought back to all of the times he had been on the other side of those threats, how he had sometimes been the one to call a target with a warning. It made his skin crawl.

Dante continued, voice light like he was chatting with an old friend. “ _I’m honestly looking forward to meeting you all in person! You seem like quite the interesting group, so eclectic, so -”_ he paused to chuckle lowly. “ _So_ soft.”

Michael could hear Gavin swearing up a storm in the other room, no doubt unable to trace the call despite his best efforts; Dante didn’t fuck around.

“ _Well, it was lovely talking to you but I must be going; I’ve got a little heist of my own to plan.”_ There was another pause. “ _Oh, and Michael?”_

It was like all the blood in Michael’s body had frozen solid.

“ _I’ll be seeing you soon.”_

There was a soft click as the call ended. Nobody moved, nobody even made a sound, all of them just staring at Michael like they were waiting for him to explode. The very air in the room felt overbearing. Then, as it usually did in times of stress, the simmering rage deep inside Michael began to rise to a boil. The tips of his fingers tingled as he clenched his fists at his side. His fingernails dug into his palms. There was no way he was going to let that creep Dante get into his head.

Through clenched teeth, he looked directly at Geoff and growled. “Those fuckers don’t know who they’re messing with.”

The gent looked at him a few moments longer, squinting his eyes in thought before grinning. “Now _that’s_ the Michael we need right now.” He stepped out of the doorway and moved into the living room. “Am I to assume that was your old boss?”

“Dante Vitalli,” Michael spat out. “A real piece of work.”

Jeremy shook himself out of his mild stupor. “How the hell did he get into our intercom system?”

“He’s got some of the best working for him – or, at least, under his thumb.”

“He really wants Michael,” Jack commented as she came out of Geoff’s office. “I’m sure they’ll spare no expense, judging by their efforts thus far.”

“They can fucking _try_ to get close to him,” Jeremy rumbled. “I’d like to see them get through all of _us_.”

A very flustered Gavin came out from his office with a matching expression, clearly upset that someone got through his security. “I couldn’t bloody find them,” he admitted. “Bastards are good, whoever they are.”

Off to the side, Ryan was still standing perfectly still and staring into space, a deep scowl on his face.

“Rye, you got something to say?” Michael asked.

The man in question flinched slightly, finally looking up at the group. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but closed it. Swallowing, he tried again.

“I think Michael should stay behind tomorrow. We can switch a couple people around, pull from B Team, and keep all positions covered. He shouldn’t be out where they can find him.”

Michael just gaped at him. Luckily, Trevor spoke up for him.

“What do you mean? Didn’t you hear a word that Dante guy said? They know where we live, Ryan! If we leave him here without any of us around, those fuckers will just waltz right in and do who knows what!”

Ryan’s eyebrows pinched together. “I know but -”

“Trevor’s got a point, Ryan; he’s better off sticking with us.” Jack interrupted.

“What if -”

“I’m not just fucking sitting here while you all go!” Michael shouted over them all. Ryan stared at him, something pleading in his eyes. Michael just glared right back. “I refuse to sit around with my foot in my ass, waiting for the inevitability of the Devils busting into my home! I _will_ be coming with you, like it or not, so you better fucking _buck up_ and do your fucking _job._ ”

The look on Ryan’s face almost made Michael regret the fire he had put into his words but there was no going back. And really, he knew that it was safer for him to be around his crew than to just wait in the penthouse or some random safe house. Ryan was his heist partner, he was supposed to keep track of him, keep him safe. Why was he backing out now, of all times? Was he worried that Michael was a liability? Well, f _uck that noise._

Geoff heaved a sigh and turned toward Ryan. “As much as I know you have Michael’s best interests in mind, he and Trevor are right; he’s safer with us – with _you_. The heist will continue as planned.”

Ryan stared at Geoff for a few seconds before nodding stiffly and walking toward the hallway to his bedroom. Michael’s eyes tracked him as he went. As he passed Michael, the older man glanced up, something akin to shame in his eyes. His door shut quietly behind him. Michael could feel all the rage in him seeping out, exhaustion taking its place. He turned back to address the others.

“I’m, uh, gonna go back to bed for a bit,” he said.

Geoff nodded. “Ok, Michael. I’ll send Gav to get you if we need you for anything.”

With that, Michael brushed past Trevor and returned to his room, shutting the door tightly behind him. His sheets were cold when he pulled them over himself. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come, but was only left wanting; his mind was filled with Ryan, who wanted to sideline him, to lock him in a tower like some sort of damsel in distress.

What happened to having his back?

……………………………………………………………..

The week leading up to the big heist had gone by quickly, all of the prep missions going well and without issue. It had honestly put the whole crew on edge, even before the disaster that was the intercom hijacking; the Devils had been too silent for too long and had come back swinging. Now, it was like the entire penthouse was filled with a thick tension that remained unvoiced. They had filled the empty times between missions playing video games, working on their gadgets and cars, and generally trying to stay busy. The final full day before the heist, however, had started well but ended with closed doors and hushed voices. Geoff hadn’t known how to fix it, so he simply let it be, hoping that the others would sort themselves out.

This wasn’t Geoff’s first rodeo; he’d been running heists for over two decades and was one of the top crime bosses in the country. His mama always said that hard work would always eventually pay off. So why was this one stressing him out so much? The Devils were scary, sure, but this wasn’t the first time a rival crew had come in to wreak havoc during heist time. And they had been so, _so_ careful in their planning; he and Gavin had spent countless nights going over notes and camera footage, every little detail accounted for and triple checked. Even with the threat of Michael’s past rearing its ugly head, there was no way things wouldn’t work out in the Fake’s favor in the end.

And yet, there was a creeping, sickening feeling just barely nestled at the back of his mind, its little tendrils of doubt sneaking their way in when he let his mind wander too much in the wrong direction.

Geoff didn’t usually express his feelings in the most constructive of ways. He was prone to shouting at his crew when they were being idiots (more often than he’d like) and fits of raucous laughter when they were goofing off (more often than he ever thought possible) but he kept his affections close to his heart. Jack always told him he needed to open up more but it was hard; he’d been raised in a strict household that praised diligence and discouraged exaggerated outward emotions. It was really only with Jack that he let his true feelings show – god, how he loved that woman – and even then it was with small gestures and private words.

No, Geoff showed his love for his crew through his actions, through the behind the scene measures he made to keep them safe and secure. These people were his _family_ and that meant something to him, more than anything in the world. So this threat by one of the most dangerous gangs in the country, who were out for the blood of one of his own? Yeah, Geoff took that personally and was willing to do anything to keep Michael and the rest of the Fakes safe.

Because really, once those freaks figured out they couldn’t have Michael, there was no telling what they would do to the rest of the crew. Hell, they’d already fucked with Trevor, who’s to say they wouldn’t attack the others if they had the chance?

With a heavy sigh, Geoff shut the door to his office and locked it, letting the retractable tether pull his key back into his pocket. The lights were out in the rest of the penthouse save for the one over the stove, where a lone figure in sleep shorts and a ratty tank top stood waiting for the kettle to boil. The clock on the microwave glowed green; it was half past three in the morning.

“You’re up late,” Geoff commented softly, walking up to wrap his arms around the tall, warm body.

“Could say the same for you,” Jack responded with a small laugh.

Geoff only hummed in response, nuzzling his nose into the nape of Jack’s neck. He loved the way she smelled, like subtle citrus and the jasmine soap she always used. Gently, he kissed the soft baby hairs that were still a little damp from the shower she must have taken earlier.

“I just -” She paused, almost like something was stuck in her throat. “I worry that we’re not doing enough.”

Geoff tightened his embrace, hooking his chin over her shoulder. “We’ve gone over everything dozens of times, Jackie, I promise you that we’ve done our best to keep everyone safe.”

“I know, Geoff, I know. It’s just that I can’t ever stop worrying about them, you know?” Geoff nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Especially Michael; he acts so brave all the time but I know he’s scared.”

With a start, Geoff could hear a rare tremble in Jack’s voice. When he turned his head slightly to look at her face, there were tears silently making their way down her cheeks.

“Oh, Jackie, darlin’, come here.” He used his arms to turn Jack around so he could hold her to his chest. Her body shook ever so slightly as she wordlessly grabbed the front of Geoff’s shirt and held on tight. “He’ll be ok, he’s got all of us. Hell, he’s got Ryan glued to his side and you know that he would never let anyone harm a hair on that boy’s pretty head.”

Jack’s voice was muffled when she responded, clear of its tremble but still soft. “He’s got it bad.”

“Yeah,” Geoff chuckled. “Yeah, he really does.”

They stood there like that, cloaked in each others comfort, until the kettle finally began to whistle. Geoff kissed the top of Jack’s head before releasing his arms from around her and moving to the cupboard to grab two mugs. They were handmade and mismatched, one covered in hand-painted flowers and the other stating “World’s Okayest Boss” in big, bold letters; they were both beloved gifts from Lindsay when she had been on her pottery kick.

“There enough water for two cups?”

Jack gave him a fond, still somewhat watery smile and nodded. She reached into the tin on the counter next to the stove and pulled out two tea bags, dropping them in the mugs before pouring the hot water. Geoff slid the honey bear towards them, pouring a little in his own mug and a liberal amount in Jack’s. The smell of chamomile permeated the space.

With their cups of tea made, Geoff reached out to take Jack’s hand and began to lead her down the hall to their shared room. Once inside, they closed the door, set their mugs on their nightstands, and crawled into their massive bed. With their back guarded by pillows against the headboard, tea in their hands, Jack cuddled up against Geoff’s side before switching on the big TV on the opposite wall, volume on low. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before resting her head there. When Geoff glanced down, one of the straps of her tank top had slipped down her arm. His heart ached with how beautiful she was.

Noticing the pattern on the front of her top, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

“Is that my shirt?”

…………………………………………………..

In the dark of his room, under the thick blankets of his bed, Michael stared at the ceiling. Even with his eyes wide open, reflections of the nightmare he had just awoken from washed across his vision, tangling with the shadows to create even more terrifying pictures. All he could think about were the faces of his fellow Fakes, caked in blood, staring at him with blank eyes as he stood over them, gun in hand. He could feel the cold sweat at his back and forehead but couldn’t move to wipe it away. There was a small sound from the room next to him.

And then, just like he always did when he was most needed, Gavin arrived.

He didn’t bother to knock but instead quietly opened the door, stepped in, and shut it behind him before padding over to Michael’s bed. He was wrapped up in one of the oversized quilts that Jack had made him. Pulling the big comfy chair Michael kept by the window, he plopped himself down right next to Michael’s head. Without words, he reached out and took Michael’s hand in his, squeezing twice before letting them rest on the sheets.

“Thanks boi,” Michael whispered.

Gavin gave him a soft smile, the kind he reserved only for his crew and only when the lights were off and everything was very quiet. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m scared.” Michael’s voice was almost silent, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of their collective breathing.

“I know, boi,” Gavin whispered back, squeezing his hand once more. “Me too.”

“What if they hurt you? Or Jeremy, or Ryan, or -”

“Sh, sh, none of that now. No one is going anywhere, and no one is getting hurt, you got that? The heist is going to go swimmingly and then we’re going to hunt down those bastards, just you see.”

Michael didn’t respond but still clung tight to Gavin’s hand. The other lad held on just as tightly. Several long minutes went by where neither of them said a thing, just listening to each other breathe.

Finally, Michael looked at his best friend and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Stay?”

Gavin’s face was full of a tired contentedness as he squeezed back. “Of course, boi.”

And so he stayed, holding Michael’s hand while sitting in his chair, till they were both finally asleep. The nightmares didn’t return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, shit starts to go DOWN >:]
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Let me know your predictions on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)


	5. Speak of The Devil and He Shall Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I thought it would be but I hope you like it!
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr for updates and more bullshit.

The time had finally come: it was heist day.

The penthouse was a flurry of activity all morning; everyone – including all of B-Team – was crowded in the heist room, in Gavin and Geoff’s offices, and the living room. Jack had made a couple pans of breakfast casserole and people were in various stages of completing their heaping plates. Guns, sticky bombs, and other various weapons were strewn about as everything was meticulously checked over and distributed to those who needed them. It was an organized sort of chaos, one that somehow managed to work.

Ryan had spent the last 20 minutes or so sitting on one of the living room couches, carefully cleaning and sharpening all of his impressive knife collection. Each time he finished with one, he would slip it into its appropriate sheath and attach it to his heist clothes. He had already taken the time to paint his face, the terrifying visage of the Vagabond’s iconic skull face on full display. Though scary to the average person, the rest of the crew was so used to it that they paid no mind. Ryan had long since stopped taking that as a small hit to his ego.

From his position on the couch, Ryan could easily see Michael going over his assemblage of explosives, tucking most of the grenades away in a crate before stashing several in his belt pouches. He admired the detail-oriented way that the lad went over his materials, never missing anything with his acute eye. Ryan made sure to only stare when he had paused with his knives, not wanting to repeat the accident from earlier that week. And stare he did.

Guilt still hung deep in his gut for the way things had gone down the previous day; all he wanted was to keep Michael safe but had only managed to insult him by insinuating that he didn’t want him around. That was the furthest thing from the truth – they were such a good team, so in sync, that he couldn’t imagine not being around him, especially during a heist. But Ryan kept feeling this insidious fear at the back of his mind, like there was something wrong, that something was coming. Of course, logically, he knew this was because of the obvious threat from the Devils and that things had been planned around this but still. He just couldn’t get it out of his head.

Glancing up after finishing with a particularly wicked looking hunting knife, Ryan was met with brown eyes – Michael was looking right at him, a scowl on his face. Ryan immediately looked back down and could feel a flush forming on his face, this time out of shame instead of crush-induced embarrassment. His gut twisted painfully. The need to apologize and explain himself grew and grew, so he hatched a plan to talk to Michael on their way to their assigned position. There was no way they were going into the heist while not on the same page.

When the time finally came to regroup and head out, Geoff called them all into the living room for one last meeting.

“Alright fuckers, today’s the day!” He rubbed his hands together. Jack rolled her eyes. “Morgan Corp won’t know what’s coming for them. Ya’ll know your jobs but in case something slips your mind, give Matt, Lindsay, or Fiona a call on the coms; they’re running it from back here, keeping an eyes on things. They’ll set you straight.”

The three of them exchanged a series of high-fives.

“Now. There’s three hours before the insertion team is slated to begin their part of the heist, so that should give the rest of you time to get to your positions. Trevor, Alfredo, I need you guys to be the quickest; those radar dishes up near Sandy Shores need to be taken out at exactly the right moment to allow for safe entrance into the Morgan facility with minimal warning to their security forces. I’ve got Gav and Lil J covering the police distraction, which should keep those idiots occupied while the rest of us get inside the tower. We’ve got B-Team standing by in case anything goes haywire, so don’t hesitate to call them in. Once we have that hard drive, we’ll be sitting mighty pretty with the city’s finest in the palm of our hand.”

Jack stepped forward, a serious look on her face. Ryan had a feeling he knew what she was going to talk about. He could see Michael tense up.

“As we all know, there’s some pretty filthy people out for Michael’s head.” The lad’s scowl deepened and Gavin put his hand on his shoulder. “But we’re stronger together, and this whole thing has been planned down to the second; I’m confident that we can avoid any serious problems. But just in case you come into contact with anyone even a tiny bit connected to the Jersey Devils, you give me or Geoff a call. I’m not taking any more risks than we have to.”

Everyone in the room nodded or murmured their agreement, giving not so subtle glances in Michael’s direction. Ryan saw Gavin’s grip on Michael’s shoulder tighten. He wished that he could provide some sort of comfort to the younger man but he knew that he wasn’t the right person to do that right now.

“Okay!” Geoff put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, face split with a savage grin. “Insertion team, you’re with me and Jack. Radar team, go ahead and head out. Team Boston Tea Party, I want you in position within the hour. Any questions?” No one said anything. “Excellent. Let’s heist!”

…………………………………...

The drive to their starting point was short and didn’t provide any good opportunities for Ryan to talk to Michael. Every time he wanted to, his throat would close up and he’d chicken out. For his part, Michael just sat in his seat, staring out the window of the Zentorno. The tension in the car was thick and suffocating. It wasn’t until they had parked the car next to Geoff and Jack’s car underneath Maze Bank that Ryan felt like he could say something. Even then, he wasn’t quite sure where to begin but he knew it was now or never. Heart in his throat, he turned towards Michael with his eyes downcast.

“Michael, I-” He choked a bit on his words before continuing. “I want you to know that I want you here, that I want you on my team. I’m sorry that I was so near-sighted yesterday; all I want is for you to be safe. What I said wasn’t thought through and you have to believe me when I say that I would never push you away like that. That was never my intention.”

When the lad didn’t respond right away, Ryan closed his eyes tightly and started again.

“I _need_ you to be safe, alright?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I won’t be able to handle it if something happens to you.”

Michael let out a snort. “Then why would you want me to stay behind? You gotta know I’m safest when I’m with the crew. You especially. What happened to having my back?”

With an obvious cringe, Ryan opened his eyes and forced himself to look the younger man in the eyes. “I know it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking straight and I realize that now. Words just sort of came out of my mouth and by the time I realized what I was saying, it was too late. I fucked it all up, trust me, I know, but we can’t have this rift between us, especially not tonight. We’re a damn good team, Michael; I need you on my side for this one.”

The scrutinizing look on Michael’s face almost made him lose the courage to maintain eye contact. His insides squirmed a bit under the examination. He felt transparent, like the lad could see inside of his very being. It was hard to tell if the shiver that ran down his spine was from the intense scrutiny or plain old arousal, or which one was worse in this case. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Michael seemed to come to an internal conclusion, nodding his head once and giving Ryan an uncertain grin.

“Yeah, we do make a fuckin’ great team, don’t we?”

Ryan’s answering smile was tentative but hopeful. “Hell yeah we do.”

And so they waited. Alfredo and Trevor kept them updated on their progress up north and soon enough, loud sirens and gunfire could be heard several blocks away as Jeremy and Gavin began their ‘distraction’. _Those two idiots are perfect for each other._ The coms were active with Jack and Matt monitoring timing and logistics.

Like Geoff said, things were planned down to the second and they had to be sure to keep communication open to insure things were going according to design. The Gents and Michael only had to wait for the all-clear to begin their part of the heist. They would soon be moving to the parking garage of a nearby skyscraper but for now they stayed hidden underneath the bank.

The pre-heist jitters were still alive and well within Ryan; his very skin buzzed with anticipation. And now that he was back in Michael’s good graces, his moral had increased exponentially. The creeping anxiety from earlier was all but gone now, leaving room for a sort of glowing optimism. The Fakes were smart, strong, and just the right amount of crazy for this whole thing to pan out the way they needed. If everything went flawlessly, they would be walking away millions of dollars and years of blackmail richer, which sounded pretty alright in Ryan’s book.

When the time finally came for the insertion team to make their way to their true starting point, Ryan was raring to go, skull mask on and hands flexing on the wheel. Beside him, Michael bounced his leg up and down, a clear sign that he was getting antsy and was ready to get out and do some damage. The two cars made their way to the parking garage, obeying all traffic laws along their route – it was truly a sight to behold and Ryan struggled with the whole concept. Once in the garage, they parked near two stairways on either side of the bottom level. Geoff’s voice crackled over the coms.

“R _yan, Michael, you guys go up first and get to the server room. Jack and I will get up to the roof_ _directly_ _and make some noise_.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah yeah, we know Geoff, we were at the briefing.”

“ _Whatever dude, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Just don’t forget to get that panel shut down before you try and leave; this whole place gets locked up in 10 minutes and we only brought two parachutes_.”

“Aye aye, _capitan_ ,” Ryan droned, voice mock serious. Michael snickered.

“ _You two are assholes._ ”

Michael full on laugh out loud. “Yeah, but you loves us and you know it.”

There was a heavy sigh. “ _Just – don’t fuck this up, okay? Kingpin out._ ”

“Kingpin? I forgot about that one...” Ryan muttered to himself.

“He likes to feel big.”

The two of them stepped out of the Zentorno and walked to the trunk to pull out their assault weapons; they would be practicing extreme stealth but you could never be too careful. Finally, just as Ryan was adjusting the strap of his equipment harness, Alfredo’s voice came over the coms to give them the all clear. Michael turned to Ryan with a manic grin, raising his closed fist for the gent to bump.

“Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

………………………………………….

It had all gone according to plan; Trevor and Alfredo’s business with the radars had effectively made the security in the building nonfunctional, Jack and Geoff had provided sufficient distractions on the roof (who knew blowing the AC units would cause such a ruckus?), and Michael and Ryan had easily been able to sneak into the server room. Finding the correct data tower had been a little frustrating but with Matt’s help in guiding them, it was eventually found and Ryan used his little device from the first heist prep mission, as well as the information gathered from that, to pull the desired hard drive.

The final part of the heist however, the part where they were supposed to get the fuck out of Dodge, was not going so well. Jack and Geoff had already successfully jumped from the roof to land on another building far below but there had been a tiny, itty bitty snag in the other half of the escape plan; when Michael and Ryan made it back down to the bottom garage level, there had been about twenty five men and women waiting for them, all armed to the teeth.

The Devils had finally come for Michael.

Ryan had jumped out first, shoving Michael behind a nearby car and immediately firing at the gang members nearest to them. Michael’s ears rang from all of the gunfire.

“The panel, Michael!” Ryan pleaded, ducking down behind the car beside him. “Stick to the plan and get to the fucking panel. We can do this.”

Michael pulled the pin off of a grenade and tossed it over the car without looking where it landed. The resulting explosion didn’t seem to deter their attackers, their gunfire only lessening for a few seconds before resuming.

“I gotta go around the side. Cover me?”

Ryan nodded. “Consider yourself covered.”

With that, Michael cautiously worked his way around a few cars till he was poised for a straight shot to the panel. He heard an unfamiliar voice shout behind him in pain. When he looked back towards the fight, he was greeted with a reassuring sight:

Ryan was in full Vagabond mode, mowing down Devil after Devil with a combination of his AP pistol and eight inch serrated combat knife. His iconic mask was splattered in blood, dark against the back and gray of the skull. Each of his movements was calculated, smooth, and executed with an obvious purpose. He easily worked his way through the numerous men in front of him. Michel was having a hard time concentrating on his task, he was so distracted.

He had never found the other man more attractive.

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, he focused his attention on the group of Devils approaching them from their right flank, sneaking behind cars as he went. He followed their movements with a keen eye and threw grenades when he was sure the damage wouldn’t reach him or Ryan. The loud explosions pulled whispered whoops of joy from Michael, the familiar exhilaration rushing through him despite the threat of his old crew looming over him.

The feeling was short lived though; when he looked back over at Ryan to check on him, Michael’s eyes were drawn instead to the barely noticeable glint of the barrel of a rifle sticking up over the roof of a black van. Ryan turned his back to it, clearly unaware of the danger.

“Ryan! Behind you!” Michael shouted. No reaction.

_He can’t hear me,_ he realized. “Shit.”

Michael had finally reached the electrical panel 20 yards away that they were meant to disable, his hand already poised with his lock pick over its key hole. Ryan continued to fight behind him, still oblivious to the shooter. The need to protect Ryan was overwhelming.

“Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” Michael growled, rapidly searching his side pouches for another grenade or a sticky bomb or _something_ but finding nothing; he was completely out of explosives.

The crack of a sniper rifle echoed off of the garage walls and Michael’s head snapped back up to find Ryan still standing, now moving his head around to try and locate the source of the shot. Michael’s internal struggle raged on; did he open the panel and disable its connection, thereby securing their escape, or did he take out the threat to Ryan’s life?

His mind was made up for him as a second shot exploded the wall near Ryan’s head, flinging chips of concrete at his mask.

“Fuck it.”

With one last regretful look at the panel, Michael turned and ran towards the car where he knew the shooter was hidden. He used the other surrounding vehicles to hide his approach, taking a wide berth to avoid the combat. Another sniper shot rang out and Michael heard a cry over the blaring of car alarms; his blood ran cold with the recognition of that voice. He took the risk and raised his head over the hood of the sedan he was hiding behind.

Ryan was clutching his left arm, where it appeared the bullet had grazed it. His knife lay abandoned on the ground but he was still actively using his other arm to fire his gun. It looked like he was trying to move to cover but the surrounding gang members were moving in and blocking his way. Michael saw the sniper barrel shift, following Ryan’s now evasive movements. Michael figured he could safely reach the shooter in 20 seconds if he could just maneuver past a couple enemies.

Heart pounding in his chest, He moved in bursts, skirting the main area of the action but staying within sight of Ryan. He _had_ to get to the sniper and take him down; he couldn’t give them another chance to hit Ryan. Then they could somehow get the panel disabled and get the hell out of that damned parking garage. They would meet up with the rest of the crew at the rendezvous point, go home, and figure out their next steps in dealing with Dante and his gang. He just needed one more clear opening to move behind the van hiding the gunman -

_There!_

Michael pushed off the car he had been hiding behind and leapt. He took one last peek at Ryan between the two vehicles; the gent had picked up his knife again and had taken down more enemies. Comforted by this, Michael pulled his mind back to the task at hand.

Even before he reached the other side of the van, Michael had his gun out. Once the sniper came into view – completely unaware that he was even there – the lad took his shot. Blood and bits of brain matter sprayed all over the windows of the car, the body of the Devil flopping to the ground into a steadily growing pool of red. Not missing a beat, Michael reached down and picked up the fallen rifle, hefted it over the hood of the van, and began to take shots at the remaining gang members. He didn’t miss a single shot.

“Ryan! Get to the car, I’ve got you covered!”

Ryan obeyed with no hesitation, slitting the throat of the nearest Devil with one swift movement before running to his nearby Zentorno, the path to it now clear. Michael continued to provide cover fire until the other man got into their getaway vehicle. He waved his new gun around to indicate his location; Ryan immediately revving the engine and ploughed through several cars to reach him. Instead of getting into the passenger seat, Michael went around to the driver’s side and yanked the door open.

“Move over, I’m driving,” he demanded.

“What? No!”

“Move, Ryan! You’re arm’s a mess and you’re a better shot than me anyway!”

He could feel Ryan glare at him from behind the mask but the gent still switched seats anyway, climbing over the gear shift to sit on the other side. Michael jumped into the driver’s seat and used the momentum of his peel out to slam his door shut. Rolling the window down, Ryan shot at the pursuing Devils who were getting into their own vehicles to give chase.

“Did you disable the panel?” Ryan shouted over the sound of gunfire and the Zentorno’s engine.

A rock sank in Michael’s gut. “Uh, didn’t have time, was kinda busy saving your ass!”

The older man shot him a look, panic written all over his body language. “Michael, we can’t get _out_ without the panel being shut down! The gate won’t open!”

“I know that!” Michael yelled, whipping the car upone of the spiralling ramps at the edge of the garage that led to the level with the exit. “We’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out!”

“Michael-”

“Do you trust me?”

Ryan paused, staring at Michael for few seconds before giving a simple answer.

“Always.”

A bullet shattered their back window, breaking the moment like the tempered glass now scattered all over the back of the Zentorno. Ryan swore loudly and turned around, shooting through the new hole. There were at least four cars filled with Dante’s men following closely behind them. Bullets pinged off of their doors and bumper. _Thank whatever god’s up there Ryan always splurges on bulletproof tires._

When they reached street level, Michael drove straight at the exit. Just like it was several hours earlier, the gate was down and locked, blocking their one escape route.

“Shit,” Michael muttered under his breath. “ _Fuck._ ”

Ryan gave him what was most likely another concerned look; it was hard to tell with the skull covering his face. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

In lieu of answering, Michael accelerated more, aiming for the center of the gate.

“Buckle the fuck up!”

As soon as Ryan buckled his seat, Michael slammed his foot all the way down on the gas pedal. They were only twenty feet away from the exit.

Fifteen feet away.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

Michael held his breath and closed his eyes.

There was an ear-splitting SLAM accompanied by the screeching of metal as the hood of the Zentorno was ripped completely off. The whole front of the car was caved inward and the tires pulled at an angle. Michael smashed his face into the steering wheel; his eyes watered but his nose didn’t seem to be broken. He could hear Ryan groaning next to him and he took that as a sign that the older man was still kicking. The smell of antifreeze mixed with that of motor oil all around them.

And yet, despite all of the damage, they had made it through; they were still alive by some freak stroke of luck. Sure, they were dragging part of the grate along with them down the street and shards of glass rattled in their laps and on the floor but they were _alive_.

It was difficult to see out of the busted front window but Micheal still pushed the Zentorno to its limits. On his right, Ryan sat clutching his chest again, this time breathing in short gasps. Guilt rushed through Michael.

“Shit, Rye, you ok?”

The older man just nodded and went back to shooting out of the rear window.

In the mirrors, Michael saw two remaining cars following them. He knew there would be more coming but he had to concentrate on getting them as far away from the immediate danger first. Driving the Zentorno with the front wheels smashed inward proved to be nearly impossible though; every turn Michael made went all over the place and had the axle screaming. He tried to keep a decent distance from the Devils behind them but they were still gaining on them fast.

Up ahead, an alleyway appeared in the darkness and Michael made a split second decision to change direction.He whipped the steering wheel to the left, hoping they could make the turn at the speed they were going but misjudged the drift and suddenly the car was spinning out of control. Then they were airborne.

They flipped once.

Twice.

End over end till they finally crashed into a light pole and landed on the Zentorno’s passenger side door. The last thing Michael remembers is the sharp yelp of the man next to him and then everything goes black.

………………………………………………………...

The first thing Ryan noticed after crashing was an intense pulsating pain at the front of his skull - he must have hit his head on the dash, though his mask seemed to have softened the blow a bit. He removed it to examine his face with his fingers while blinking yellow lights from the dashboard display shot stabs of pressure through his eyes. The second thing he noticed was the body of Michael Jones slumped sideways in his seat, his seat belt the only thing keeping him from falling. There was blood dripping from the side of his head, matting in his hair. The third thing he noticed was the most concerning though; gunfire, getting closer fast. He tried to get a hold of Geoff through the coms but he only got static in response.

“Michael,” he croaked. He tried again, louder this time. “Michael!”

When the lad didn’t respond, Ryan unbuckled his own seat belt and attempted to stand and help him. His head pounded with every move he made. Reaching up, he held the side of Michael’s face in one hand and lightly slapped his cheek with the other.

“Jesus Christ Michael, you gotta wake up, we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Relief flooded his veins as Ryan saw Michael’s brows scrunch together and he heard a groan escape his lips. Brown eyes opened and met his blue.

“That’s it, Michael, that’s it. I’m gonna help you down now, ok?” Michael groaned again in response. “Put your arms around my shoulders so I can unbuckle you.”

The lad did just that and Ryan was able to reach around and release him. Michael’s whole weight dropped into his arms, almost making Ryan collapse. _Jesus, he’s all muscle._ Once his feet touched the ground and he gave himself a few seconds to regain his footing, Michael’s cognizance seemed to come back to him and he climbed up and out of the car himself, reaching back in to help Ryan. The two of them dropped back down to the ground on the side of the bottom of the Zentorno, looking around to see if any Devils were nearby. The sound of brakes being slammed reverberated from the other side of the smoking car.

Michael looked back at Ryan. “You good to run?”

Ryan assessed his injuries; he clearly had head trauma and his ribs were more than likely busted but they needed to get moving. “Yeah, I’m good.”

At his words, Michael lunged ahead, running as fast as he could. He looked a little wobbly at first but the man had always been hard to keep down for long. Ryan slipped his mask back on and followed him. It was clear that Michael was doing much better than him – the gent was beginning to fall behind. Smoke and steam combined with the darkness of night to hinder his vision and it was getting hard to see the lad in front of him, especially with him weaving between cars. But still he ran; all of his other options involved getting shot and that was unacceptable.

They had been running for maybe a minute but it felt like so much longer. Every muscle and bone in his body screamed, his lungs aching, barely keeping Michael in sight as they ran. Gunfire followed them, ricocheting off of cars and the stone of the surrounding buildings. Ryan felt several painful _THUDS_ against his chest and back but forced himself to keep moving, to find a way to put some sort of cover between them and the Devils. _There must be a couple dozen of them;_ _where do they keep coming from??_ The pain in his skull was making forming coherent thoughts difficult. _Come on, think, Ryan, think!_

There, up ahead – an over turned SUV butted up against the outside of a building, a remnant of Gavin and Jeremy’s earlier escapades with the police. They had made it further away from the garage than he had originally thought.

“Michael!” He screamed. “Behind the black SUV!”

Ahead of him, he saw the shadowy figure he knew to be Michael abruptly change direction and dive behind the car. Within seconds, Ryan slid down to the ground next to him, ducking just in time to avoid being hit by another barrage of bullets. They each took a moment to catch their breath, the smoke from several still smoldering cars making Ryan’s lungs burn. He could see Michael’s eyes trace all over him, checking for injuries; he quivered under the stare and took off his mask again.

“I’m all good, Michael,” he reassured the lad. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Michael looked directly into his eyes, chest heaving from exertion. “I’m so sorry, Rye, I’m so sorry, I fucked up, I fucked up bad.”

“It’s ok, we’re ok! Just keep your focus-” Ryan shifted to shoot over the SUV at the sound of an approaching Devil; the man dropped without a noise. “-and we’ll get out of this in one piece.”

They both started to peak over their cover vehicle to take down more and more gang members. Ryan knew even more would soon be coming from their other, uncovered sides; they needed to find a new spot to hide or somehow get out of there completely. As it stood, they couldn’t move anywhere without risking getting shot. He tried his coms again on the off chance that they had recovered connection but all he got was static, the buzzing in his ear matching the buzzing in his head.

Despite their constant fire, Ryan was positive that they were making no progress in clearing a path for escape. It was just the two of them up against an entire gang. Who knew if the rest of the Fakes even knew they were out here? He had to operate on the assumption that no back up was coming.

_There are too many of them; I have to get Michael away from here._ The memory of an old safe house that was relatively nearby popped into Ryan’s head; he was pretty sure it had gone unnoticed by the Devils so far. All he had to do was make a clear route for Michael to take, give him a chance to escape without the other gang noticing. It was their best chance. Decision made, he took a deep breath and spoke to Michael over the gunfire.

“Get to safe house delta, Michael, I’ll be right behind you!”

Michael glared at him, more blood dripping down his forehead. “Don’t you pull that shit on me, dickhead; I’m not going anywhere without you!”

Ryan swore as he ducked out from behind the ruined car to fire blindly into the smoke, his heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, you just need to get out of here! I’ll meet you there, I promise!”

“Fuck you!”

“Oh for fucks sake, Michael, _GO_!”

The look Michael gave him would have wounded any other man but Ryan remained resolute, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The Devils wanted Michael and would do anything to get him; he figured he’d be able to buy the lad some time to get away before he followed. Judging by the conflicted look on the younger man’s face, he must have seen the stubborn determination in Ryan’s eyes. With a growl appropriate for the Wolf of Los Santos, he turned his full body towards Ryan, accusing finger stabbing into the older man’s chest.

“If you don’t show up within one hour, I’m coming back out, you got that? Jersey Devils be damned.” Ryan gave a tight nod, the familiar jolt at Michael’s touch distracting him slightly. “And if you die, I swear on my mother’s grave that I will kill you myself.”

Ryan laughed at that, his face pulling into a grimace as his (clearly) broken ribs shifted painfully in his chest. “I love it when you yell empty threats at me; makes me feel important.”

Michael gave him an odd look, a mix of fury and something else Ryan couldn’t identify in his eyes. “That’s ‘cause you _are_ important to me, jackass.” He whipped around to shoot a dark figure materializing from the smoke. A loud grunt sounded as the Devil’s crew member fell.

Ryan blamed his next move on the wave of vertigo that washed over him – perhaps that was a concussion raging in his skull that was messing with his decision making skills. All he could think about were the words he’d said to Jeremy earlier in the week: _I’ll try._ When Michael turned back around to face him, he reached out with his gun-free hand to hold him by the nape of his neck.

“Ryan, what the fuck are y-”

His words were stopped mid-sentence as Ryan pulled him down, their lips meeting in a searing kiss. Ryan wasn’t sure if he was dizzy from the loss of blood or the fact that within seconds, Michael was kissing him back – Michael was _kissing him back_ – with fervor. Honestly, it was probably a bit of both. Whatever the case, he didn’t care; he was too preoccupied with the fact that Michael had deepened the kiss, his tongue making its way inside his mouth to tangle with his, his warm hand moving to cup the side of his face. Michael kissed like he lived: with fire and passion, his usual simmering rage concentrated in one single heated action. Perhaps now Ryan was dizzy because of the lack of air.

Michael was the one to break the kiss, pressing his forehead to Ryan’s, his hand moving to the back of his skull to hold him there. Ryan could feel the lad’s breath on his face as he panted, eyes closed. When he opened them, their eyes instantly met; Ryan could see the tiny freckles that dotted his brown irises. His face was smeared with dirt and blood. He was so beautiful.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Michael whispered, trembling ever so slightly, eyes slightly dazed. “We are so talking about that later.”

Ryan couldn’t help himself; he leaned in and kissed him again, this time hurried and bruising, fingers tightly holding onto Michael’s sweat-soaked curls. He had to practically rip himself away from Michael’s lips when he heard gunfire closer than he liked.

“Go, Michael,” he said in a rough and shaking voice. “ _Please_.”

Michael frowned, his eyes boring into Ryan’s. “You’ll be right behind me?”

“Promise.” He put his hand on Michael’s chest to push him away, heart aching; this was quite possibly the hardest thing he had ever done. “Within the hour.”

“Don’t you fucking die, Haywood,” Michael said, stepping away. “I’ll never forgive you.”

With a last glance back, Michael turned and ran into the smoke behind the car. Ryan provided cover fire as he snuck away, the various bullet-riddled cars in the street adding protection. His hands shook as he pulled his skull mask back down his face.

The Vagabond was back.

With Michael now on his way to safety, Ryan focused on firing back at the Devils, his chest aching every time he had to move to a new firing position or peek out from behind cover to take a shot. Way sooner than he would have liked, he noticed his ammo running low; he needed to be more careful, more precise in his shots. No more wasting bullets, which meant he would have to let them get closer so he could see them clearer before firing. He wished he had packed grenades.

_At least Michael got away,_ he desperately reminded himself. _I can handle a few more of these bastards._

…………………………………………………..

Jeremy screeched to a halt in front of the black Zentorno, flinging himself off of his bike in his haste. The sight of the flipped vehicle raised an alarm in his head. He looked through the smashed windows to find an empty car. Panicked, Jeremy whipped his head around, searching the dark for any sign of his friends. When the pair hadn’t made the rendezvous on time and there had been no response on the com, Geoff had given them five minutes before having Matt ping the Zentorno’s last location. Jeremy had wasted no time in racing off to find them, and he was beginning to think that was a very good idea.

“Ryan!” He shouted, his voice echoing slightly among the rubble. “Michael! You alright?”

There was no response.

With a desperate growl, Jeremy got back on his bike and started around the other side of the car, keeping his eyes out for the tell-tale blue stripes of Ryan’s jacket or the wolf of Michael’s. As he made his way through the smoking cars and pieces of exploded building, the only bodies he could see were those of the cops he and Gavin had dealt with earlier and the Devils. And boy, there were a lot of those. Not surprising, seeing as how they had gone up against two of the deadliest people in Los Santos. Despite the lack of any sign of his friends, Jeremy kept searching, weaving through the rubble on his bike, sometimes using his bare hands to rip chunks of stone away if it looked like there was a gap underneath.

After several more minutes of searching, and a steadily decreasing hope of finding them, Jeremy caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye; two bright blue stripes on a black sleeve. Immediately, he jumped off his bike and ran over to the body on the ground, tucked behind a ruined suburban. Under all the dirt, blood, and half-destroyed mask, he could just make out the familiar face of Ryan. With a mumbled _‘fuck’_ , he dropped to his knees next to him.

“Ryan, hey – _holy shit –_ Rye, can you hear me?” He carefully pulled off the mangled skull mask so he could get a better look at his friend’s face. Ryan’s face wasn’t too badly damaged but there was a large cut on his left eyebrow that sluggishly dripped blood down his face; Jeremy used part of his shirt to wipe some of it away. With a soft grunt, Ryan twitched under his touch, his eyes scrunching up in discomfort.

“Hey buddy, you’re gonna be alright, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Jeremy said in a soft voice, gently reaching under Ryan’s shoulders to help him sit up. “Come on Rye, up you get, it’s time to go; Geoff’s freaking the fuck out and we gotta get back to the penthouse.”

Ryan simply groaned in response, his breath ragged as he tried to hold himself up. After a few moments of just sitting there, Jeremy’s arms around his shoulders, he finally opened his eyes. His head lolled back so he could look the lad in the face.

“ _Fuuuuck-_ ” he growled, his jaw clenched tight and his blue eyes watering from the smoke.

Jeremy just laughed in relief. “There you are.”

Ryan grunted, a cough shaking his body momentarily. “Didn’t think anyone was coming,” he admitted.

“What, really?” Jeremy asked incredulously. “You didn’t make the rendezvous and we knew something was up. Geoff sent me right out to find you guys. And I’d never leave you behind, you idiot. Battle Buddies forever, right?”

A small smile graced Ryan’s lips, his eyes closing for a second. “Yeah, Battle Buddies forever.”

Jeremy glanced around, a familiar fear trickling down his spine. “Rye, where’s Michael?”

“I sent him away,” the gent responded with a frown. “To safe house delta.”

“Ok, let’s go get him then.”

With just a bit of help, Jeremy finally got Ryan to stand. The gent was a good foot taller than him but by god, Jeremy would carry him back to the bike if he had to. Fortunately for the both of them, they were able to reach his orange and purple monstrosity with little issue. He glanced warily at the vehicle, the fact just dawning on him that he was going to need to somehow get Ryan on behind him and safely navigate to the penthouse downtown. _Well, shit._

“It’s ok, Jeremy; I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to hold on,” Ryan said as if reading his mind. He took a step away from the lad to show he could stand on his own.

Jeremy frowned, not so sure himself. “You sure, man? You’re pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah, I’ll be ok, it’s just a concussion.”

As if to prove his point, Ryan stepped further away from Jeremy towards his bike, heaved it to standing with a groan, and slung his long legs over the back. His movements weren’t as smooth as usual but he was still managing to hold himself up. He looked up at Jeremy with a grimace, his smudged face paint making him look like some sort of nightmarish ghoul. Well, more than normal, at least.

Ryan looked at his watch briefly before addressing Jeremy again. “Let’s go; I told Michael I’d meet him within the hour.”

Jeremy nodded and made his way to the front of the bike, joining Ryan on the still-running machine. He could feel his passenger wrap one arm tightly around his middle, black leather torn and torched in multiple places. Looking quickly behind him, he saw Ryan holding his stomach with the other arm, grimace still in place. There was no telling what kind of damage he had sustained in total but Jeremy knew they had to get him back to the penthouse and its hospital-level medical supplies as soon as they could. But Michael – Michael came first.

Tires screeched as the motorcycle accelerated out of the disaster zone. Next to Ryan, Jeremy was the best biker they had on the crew; he was fast, could drift around corners like it was Sunday driving, and he knew the streets of Los Santos like the back of his hand, including all of the tiny back streets and alleys. Jeremy pushed the bike to its limits. He could hear the older gent swear behind him and felt him wrap his other arm around him. The sound of police sirens – and even the _thump-thump_ of a helicopter – echoed out from behind them as they rode away; the rest of Los Santos’ finest were finally headed out to investigate all of the combined chaos ravaged downtown.

Within a couple minutes, they were pulling up to a nondescript building in an only slightly run-down part of the suburbs. The street was lined with a miscellaneous collection of small shops including a small mom and pop hardware store, a mini-mart grocer, and a shabby looking cafe. Several of the storefront windows were blocked by cardboard on the inside, some of them saying things like “new shop coming soon!” or “closed for remodel”. The two men parked the bike in the alley next to one such shop, a large dumpster acting as perfect cover. Jeremy turned the bike off and kicked the stand down, sliding down quickly so he could help Ryan. They both grabbed the large canvas tarp tucked between the dumpster and the wall and covered the bike.

“Probably wouldn’t have to use the tarp if your bike wasn’t painted like a piñata,” Ryan said, his voice rough.

Jeremy’s responding laugh lacked his usual humor. “Yeah, well, we all gotta have our brand, right?” He glanced worriedly at his friend, whose arms had gone back to holding his stomach. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

The two of them walked down the alley and behind the building, a tall gray brick wall blocking the street next to them from view. They entered the shop through the back door, Jeremy producing a card to access the hidden key pad to the left of the door. The lights in the hallway were off when they shut the door again, so Ryan felt along the wall till he found the switch; too-bright florescent lights blinded them both momentarily when he did. Ryan called out Michael’s name but gained to response. Jeremy coughed as some dust drifted down from the ceiling.

He turned to Ryan. “Go check the front, I’m gonna run upstairs.”

Ryan nodded and started to limp further down the hallway. Jeremy followed for a few paces before he turned to the right and bounded up the stairs two at a time. They both continued to shout Michael’s name as they searched. Jeremy felt a cold sensation building in his gut every second that they got no response. He ripped open all the doors but each room was empty with no sign of the other lad.

“He’s not up here!” He yelled, the cold spreading to his lungs. The feeling only got worse when he heard a loud _FUCK_ from downstairs accompanied by the sound of glass hitting a wall and shattering. With a racing heart, he ran back down the stairs to where Ryan was.

Jeremy found him leaning against the doorway to what used to be an office, now used for the storage of spare weapons and ammo. He was still holding onto his belly with one arm but the other was propped up on the door frame, smeared red hand prints clear upon the white paint. His chest was heaving, each breath rattling loud enough for Jeremy to hear it from five feet away. A cell phone lay on the ground, Michael’s number pulled up as a failed call.

“He’s not,” Ryan began, his voice catching. “ _He’s not_ _fucking here._ ”

With just a few steps, Jeremy closed the gap between them to grasp Ryan by the shoulders, the gent looking like he might collapse at any second. “It’s gonna be ok, I’m sure Michael’s some other place! He probably had to switch safe houses at the last second or something.” Ryan didn’t look convinced, so he continued. “Michael’s smart, Rye; he’s gonna be fine. Hell, he’s probably back at the penthouse right now wondering where _we_ are.”

Nodding shallowly, Ryan closed his eyes. “Yeah, back at the penthou-”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before his knees gave out beneath him and he collapsed to the floor, blood smearing down the door frame. Jeremy caught some of his weight but had to follow him to the floor, fumbling to get Ryan laying fully on his back. His hands shook as he pulled Ryan’s black shirt up to examine his stomach; despite him being a hardened criminal, his stomach roiled and his lunch threatened to make a reappearance when he looked at the – _1, 2, 3, ….. 6??_ – bullet slugs in his best friend’s Kevlar vest and the two bloody holes in his left side. Jeremy stared at the blood on his one hand while he used the other to tap the com in his ear to call Geoff.

“ _Jeremy? Where the hell are you? Did you find Ryan and Michael??_ ” Geoff’s voice cracked more than a few times as he nearly shouted his questions from the other side of the line.

The lad in question glanced down at Ryan and pressed his free hand over one of the bullet wounds. He was only barely successful in keeping the tremor from his voice. “I found Ryan; we’re at safe house delta. Michael isn’t here but Ryan’s been shot and just collapsed.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Geoff growled under his breath. “ _Ok, ok, – fuck – ok, I’m sending_ _Gavin_ _out to get you right now. Do you have any idea where Michael is?_ ”

Jeremy shook his head before remembering that Geoff couldn’t see him. “No, uh, but I’d check the other nearby hideouts in case he had to make a last minute detour.”

Geoff shouted to someone about doing what he suggested, a voice that sounded a lot like Trevor quickly responding. “ _On it. Any other suggestions?_ ”

“Yeah,” whispered Jeremy, his heart in his throat as he kept his hand pressed to Ryan’s side. “Tell Gav to hurry.”


	6. The Divine Comedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author makes a Dante's Inferno reference. 
> 
> Have fun with some angst!

It wasn’t like he’d meant to be captured – that had never been on his list of things to do that day. It was just that the Jersey Devils, when properly motivated, were really good at getting what they wanted. Hiding in plain sight and ambushes were their specialty. Michael knew he should have been more vigilant, should have known they would be waiting for him to be alone and then strike. His brain was so addled after the crash and that kiss that he let himself be sent away against his better judgment; Ryan had looked so desperate that he couldn’t argue.

But that kiss. Fuck, that _kiss._

Michael never imagined that their first kiss would be in the middle of a shootout but he supposed it was fitting. Hell, he’d never even thought that they would ever actually kiss at all! Sure, he’d imagined it dozens and dozens of times, but to actually experience it? Extraordinary.

He tried to focus on the lingering feeling of Ryan’s lips on his, fingers curled into his hair, while the Devils assigned to transport him zip-tied his hands and feet together in the back of a windowless van. He struggled – oh, how he struggled – but to no avail; he wasn’t strong enough to break out of the hold of five hulking men. Their endless kicks to his belly and chest didn’t help either. _At least they’re staying away from my face._

When the men had finally managed to chain Michael to a bench seat, they slammed the doors and sped off. Three of them stayed in the back with him.

“You fuckers are in such deep shit. You’re so dead,” Michael spat at them. “You don’t stand a chance against my crew. Do you even know who you’re messing with? They’ll crush you into the fucking ground.”

One of the men slammed a steel-toed boot into his gut, effectively cutting off his air supply. “Shut the fuck up, shithead, no one’s gonna find you till the boss wants them to. We’ve been gettin’ ready for you for weeks.”

“That cocksucker Dante is a piece of shit not even worth my time,” Michael wheezed through gritted teeth.

Another kick landed on his ribs and Michael felt something crack. He curled in on himself a little to guard against future attacks. Despite his words though, his heart was pounding, terror coursing through his veins. He knew that as soon as Dante got his hands on him he was the one who was screwed; his former boss was a fan of _unique_ methods of interrogation and Michael was positive that he would be using his full arsenal with him. He could only hope that his crew would find him soon.

But he’d sooner rather be dead than let these fuckers see his fear.

“My mom hits harder than you,” he managed to grit out.

The next kick met his head and for the second time that day, blackness overtook him.

…………………………………………

Ryan had never been a fan of hospitals; they were too white, too clean, and they smelled of chemicals and sickness. He’d spent so much time in them as a young kid, watching his mother die slowly, that he was never able to see them as anything other than death traps. It had been a long time since then but the fear and hatred still lingered.

So it went without saying that he still didn’t like the crew infirmary, located a few floors down from the penthouse, even though it barely looked like a medical facility. It was outfitted with the best technology Geoff could get his hands on and kept cleaner than any other location the Fakes owned, and that just reminded Ryan of hospitals. It didn’t matter that the drugs were all stolen directly from the manufacturer (ninety percent of everything taken donated to local clinics) and that Steffie wasn’t actually a doctor – it was still a place where lives hung in the balance at the mercy of modern medicine. It wasn’t a place he ever wanted to spend time.

But here he was, propped up in one of the beds with several new stitches and full of painkillers, IV stuck in the top of his hand. His skin crawled and he wanted so bad to rip out the needle but he knew Steffie would throw a fit and that would mean a lecture from Jack, and he’d already had too many of those before in this room. Someone (probably Jeremy) had stripped him of his ruined clothes before dressing him in comfortable sweats. His chest was left bare except for the sterile bandages wrapped around his middle, covering the bullet wounds, and the wrap meant to keep his ribs from moving too much.

His chest felt like it had been stomped on by an elephant; every breath he took stung and he felt his bones creak despite the tightness of the bandages. He definitely had several broken ribs. Which, if he really thought about it, wasn’t so bad considering the circumstances. At least now he knew that his Zentorno was a damn safe car overall.

Geoff had given him strict instructions to obey everything Steffie said and to not get out of bed until he was expressly told that he could. It was agony being stuck down there, unable to connect with the others and work out a plan. Jeremy, Gavin, and Jack had all visited him in the hours previously to let him know that Michael was still MIA and Ryan’s brain would not shut down, even with all of the drugs in his system. He couldn’t help but imagine what horrible things that could be happening to Michael while he just sat there. He trusted the rest of the crew to do their best but he still had a hard time sitting still.

The door to his room opened quietly and Steffie walked in, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Awake again, I see. Feeling any better?”

Ryan gave a weak shrug. “Drugs are working.”

“Good. You’re still on bed rest till your ribs set a bit more.” She moved to set the papers on his lap. “Gavin gave me these for you, says it’s all the info he could dredge up about this Dante guy but that it’s really out of date. He figures it’s a good idea to have a better idea about who we’re dealing with and that maybe it’ll give us something to find where he’s hiding in Los Santos, who his possible contacts are. At least it’ll give you something to do while you’re healing.”

There was a heavy silence between the two of them. Ryan slowly grabbed the papers and lifted the first page to his eyes, scanning it; it was a police report from several years prior describing the scene of a bank robbery. Twelve innocent bystanders had been murdered. His stomach turned at the thought of Dante’s clear lack of remorse and mercy. Steffie placed her hand delicately on Ryan’s arm.

“He’s going to be ok, Ryan, we’ll find him.”

With that, she left him to it, dropping a pen on the bedside table and walking back out the door. For a while, Ryan just stared at the crime scene photos with imagination running wild. _Get it together, Haywood, freaking out isn’t going to find him._ So he picked up the pen and began to meticulously go through each and every piece of paper and photo, every money transfer and cctv still-shot, determined to find _anything_ that could help them suss out where Dante and his Devils could be hiding. It wasn’t as good as going out and searching but at least it made him feel less like a useless burden.

As he worked, a single thought repeated itself in the back of his mind:

_He’s going to be ok. He’s going to be ok. He’s going to be ok._

……………………………………..

When he came back to consciousness, Michael was being dragged towards a large, nondescript warehouse. He’d lived in Los Santos for a while now and knew her streets back to front but he didn’t recognize this building at all. _Am I even in the city anymore?_ The dull sound of traffic and car horns made him think that he was at least on the outskirts.

There was an intense feeling like his ears were filled with cotton and Michael’s head pounded. He couldn’t help it when a small groan slipped passed his lips.

“Motherfucker’s awake,” one of the cronies grunted.

Another man roughly put a blindfold over Michael’s eyes. It didn’t really matter though since the building had no outside lights to illuminate the early morning darkness; he couldn’t see much of anything anyway. He heard a door open as he was yanked around, presumably into the building. Inside, it smelled like rusted steel and dust. It was silent except for Michael’s feet dragging along the floor and the footsteps of the Devils carrying him – he could walk but he wanted to make it all the more difficult for the idiots.

He could feel himself be led down several winding hallways, deep into the warehouse. More and more people could be heard talking around him the further they went. How many members had Dante roped along into coming to Los Santos? It sounded like the whole damn crew! That or there had been some rapid recruiting during the time before the kidnapping. Wouldn’t be the first time the Devils had used a bit of money to attract new blood.

It was how Michael had been tempted to join the Devils in the first place, wasn’t it? Young, sixteen or seventeen, the promise of a shiny gun and more money than he’d ever seen before too much to resist. Of course, back then Dante had just been another lackey to the boss at the time. But by the time Dante had taken over – amidst the old boss’s mysterious disappearance – he was in too deep to get out easily. Michael had quickly risen in the ranks, clever and vicious as he was, and Dante had used that to his advantage.

So of course he was ready for Michael, of course he knew how to catch and subdue him. Dante had always been willing to do anything to get what he wanted out of someone, and once upon a time Michael had helped him, if only a little. But what the rival boss didn’t know was how strong Michael’s loyalty to the Fakes was; he would do anything – _anything_ – to keep them safe. He was already hard to break but add in a threat to his family? It became impossible.

The men eventually reached where they wanted to go. They unbolted a door, opened it, and shoved Michael in. His knees hit the ground painfully, followed by his shoulder as he tried to avoid landing directly on his head. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

Without the use of his eyes, Michael tried to take stock of his surroundings with his other senses. He shifted till he was laying on his side with his arms till tied behind his back. The room was definitely moldy and wreaked of sweat, and the way there was no echo when he moved made him assume it was a fairly small space. There was no light filtering through the blindfold.

_Great, they’ve shoved me into a fucking closet._

He wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours before they came for him again but Michael’s arm had gone numb in the meantime. He turned towards the sound of the door unlocking and opening again, a tiny amount of light reaching his eyes. Two sets of hands roughly picked him up and deposited him against what he believed to be the back wall of the room, untying his arms briefly only to re-tie them to the wall above his head. The material they used rubbed his wrists uncomfortably.

A chillingly familiar voice spoke from in front of him.

“Is this any way to treat our guest?” Michael thought his heart might have stopped at the sound of Dante’s voice. “I would like to see his eyes when I speak with him, and I’m sure he would appreciate the same.”

The blindfold was yanked off Michael’s face and he was met with the sight of four large men and the back lit silhouette of Dante Vitalli, the door to his holding room – _cell –_ open to a brightly lit hallway. The man stepped forward so that Michael could see his face; sallow and pockmarked skin, deep set blue eyes, calculating gaze. Several old scars pulling the corner of his lip up slightly.

Michael’s first words to him were biting. “Still lookin’ like a dog, I see.”

Dante smiled widely, all of his teeth showing. "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey," Dante tutted, shaking his head as he approached, slipping leather gloves on his hands. "You've been such a wily boy! We almost gave up hope that you'd ever come back to us!"

"Fuck you," Michael hissed, spitting on Dante's boot.

A feral grin split his former boss's face. "Now now, little wolf, we'll be having none of that."

Dante waved his hand and one of the goons came forward with a strip of fabric. He forced it between Michael's lips and tied it painfully tight behind his head. The lad growled and pulled against his restraints. Dante just chuckled menacingly.

"There, see? Much better. You always did have quite the mouth."

With a speed Michael had forgotten the other man had, Dante flipped open a switchblade and pressed it against the lad's right cheek. Michael flinched when the sharp blade broke the skin. A trickle of hot blood slipped down his face. Dante's smile turned wicked, blade slicing just a bit more skin before he pulled it away. A shudder went through Michael as he lifted the knife to his mouth and licked the blood off, his eyes never looking away.

"Always so sweet for me, little wolf. We missed you terribly, you know." Dante's face turned faux contemplative. "We grieved for you, Michael, me especially. You could never understand the sorrow we felt when we thought you'd been killed. Losing one of the crew is like losing one of your family, don't you agree?"

Michael glared at him, pulse pounding, knowing exactly where this was going.

"So you can imagine our surprise when word reached us about a certain little wolf causing trouble out west. Smelled a lot like betrayal, and you should know I feel about that." He reached forward to wipe his thumb across the cut he had made, smearing the blood there. The blood on his glove was also licked off. "I can understand how your current crew must be feeling, really; I bet they're terrified, going absolutely crazy trying to track you down."

Dante stepped closer and bent down at the waist to look Michael in the eyes, sinister grin back on his face.

"But they're never going to find you. Not till I say so, not till you've given me what I want and I've fucked you up so much they won't even recognize your body, not even if I dumped it on the doorstep of your fancy skyscraper." His expression became more manic as he spoke, eyes bright with madness. "If I have to break them to break you, I will slit all of their throats one by one in front of you, just to get you to talk. Because no one betrays me and lives, little wolf." His face was inches from Michael's. " _No one_."

Suddenly Michael was a teenager again, meeting Dante for the first time and watching him interrogate a rival gang member. There had been so much screaming. This time however, the nausea and horror was tenfold, coursing through his whole body, cold sweat dripping down his back. The predatory look on Dante’s face remained as he stepped back again. He gave Michael’s cheek a light tap with his finger..

“Chin up, Mikey, we haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet!”

At that, Dante gave a little wave and walked towards the door. One of the goons opened it and they all filed out. The door slammed and locked behind them, leaving Michael alone in the pitch black once more

Michael wasn’t sure how long he was in that room by himself before anyone returned – maybe four or five hours? However long it had been, Michael was hungry, thirsty, and his arms were cramped from being tied above his head for so long. When the door opened, he cringed, the sudden light stinging his eyes. A switch was flicked and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling stuttered on. _How cliché._

Two men stood in front of him, two tall, thin motherfuckers who Michael instantly recognized as the brothers Marino, interrogators extraordinaire and favorites of the big bossman himself. They weren’t twins but they sure as hell looked it, their differences only minor changes. The eldest, Anthony, had a hooked nose and was slightly balding, while his younger counterpart Reggie had a permanent sneer and long, greasy hair. Still, they matched in gangly limbs and murderous presence.

The two brothers had a sick love of torture that Dante took advantage of regularly, employing them almost purely in ‘interrogations’, their propensity for violence and sadistic tendencies lending to their effectiveness in all things agonizing. Michael had seen they at work first hand and really, _really_ didn’t want them in that room with him, not at all.

Which is why it was so hard for him to keep his face schooled in an angry scowl and not scream and try to rip himself free from his bonds. He had a reputation to uphold, just like the brothers.

“Lookie who it is, Tony!” Reggie’s voice was high and obnoxious.

Anthony’s answering grin was all rotten teeth and unbridled excitement. “Oh yes, Reg, I see ‘im, I see ‘im.”

“Boss says he’s got some info we need. Didn’t give any rules or restrictions as long as we got it out of him.”

Somehow, the elder’s grin grew wider as he stepped further into the room. “Isn’t that just _wonderful._ ”

Michael’s nose crinkled as the stench from Anthony’s breath reached him. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end and raw fear sat deep in his gut. Every fiber of his being was crying out for him to _run run RUN_ but he somehow held himself together, determined to never show any of his emotions outside of his usual anger and mouthy impudence.

The fabric in his mouth sure made it hard to talk back though.

“Been a while, Mikey, miss us?” Sneered Reggie. Michael just glared back. “No? Aw, that’s a shame, because _we_ missed _you_.”

“You look,” Anthony paused, cocking his head to the side. “ _Healthy_. We’ll have to fix that.”

They moved in and crowded around where Michael was tied up. At first, the lad couldn’t see any weapons on them, hoping that maybe they would start slow with just some simple beatings, something he could handle easily, but then Anthony pulled out a dull-looking, rusty knife. It was only about three inches long but his skin still crawled. Reggie reached forward and roughly pulled the gag from his mouth. Before stepping back to let his brother in, he took a heavy swing at the side of Michael’s head, sending it back into the wall. Michael had a hard time focusing on Anthony as he placed the knife against his upper arm. At some point, his leather jacket had been removed and all that stood between him and the blade was a thin t-shirt.

“I hear you’ve got connections with the Roosters,” the taller man started, blade slowly being pressed into Michael’s skin. “Boss wants them off the east coast, wants them to back out of our turf. Which means we need to know where they’re hiding out. I bet you know where some of those places are, huh, Mikey?” The knife broke the skin and Anthony began to drag it slowly down. “And maybe, if you won’t tell us, we can gather up some of your new crew and ask them just as nicely.”

It was taking almost all of Michael’s concentration to not yell out in pain but the threat against his crew didn’t fall on deaf ears. He couldn’t let it be known that they were his biggest weakness. “Fuck you and your nasty knife, I’m up on all my shots.”

Anthony drew the knife back, smiling wide, and his younger brother smashed his fist into the other side of Michael’s head. “Silly Mikey, we took out the gag so we could hear you scream, not so you could talk back. The only words that should be coming outta that mouth of yours are locations and names.”

The ragged scream that ripped from Michael’s throat next echoed around the tiny room as Anthony plunged the knife into the top of his thigh. All he could see were stars, his head swimming with pain. His breath was coming out in gasps. Reggie walked forward to tie another piece of fabric around his leg, above the knife wound. The wound still bled but the make-shift tourniquet slowed it down while Michael panted.

“Can’t have you dying in the first few days, now can we?”

For the next few hours, all Michael knew was agony. He lost count of how many times he was hit in the head and kicked in the stomach, how many times Anthony dragged that knife across his skin. He had long since given up on keeping his screams in and instead opted for yelling profanities at his torturers within his shouts of pain. He never said anything more than insults, though he suspected that the brothers weren’t really trying to get anything out of him just yet and were instead just enjoying themselves for a bit. The worst part though was knowing that this wasn’t even going to be the worst of it; the brothers had so many other things up their sleeves and Michael hadn’t even been in the custody of the Devils for a half day.

He passed out eventually, welcoming the blackness this time.

……………………………………………………...

How many days had it been? Four, five? How long had Michael been missing, maybe even dead? They were sure that the Devils would have bragged about it had they managed to capture Michael but the Fakes had heard nothing from the other crew, not even a whisper as to if they were involved. Ryan knew they had to be though; Michael wouldn’t just disappear like that and he would have found a way to get word to them if he was hiding out somewhere. They all held out hope that he was doing just that, laying low for the time being, but this whole situation wreaked of foul play.

Ryan was there when Geoff opened the letter. It was in an innocuous manila envelope, addressed directly to Geoff himself and with no return address. He watched as his fellow gent opened the letter while walking into the living room, stopping almost as soon a he started reading. Geoff’s face went white as his eyes quickly scanned it. For every second that he read, it looked like he aged five years.

“Geoff?” Ryan’s voice was small, quieter than any of them had ever heard it. “What does it say?”

There was no response at first, their boss’ mouth a tight line as he reread the words carefully scrolled out in black pen. Then, with a shaking hand, Geoff flipped over the photograph in his other hand to finally show the others. In the photo, a bloodied body lay on the floor in a dark room with its arms and legs tied and a blindfold over its face. With that mop of unruly auburn curls and unmistakable forearm tattoos, it wasn’t hard to figure out who the body belonged to. Geoff’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quivering, anger and fear taking over his formerly calm demeanor.

“It’s Michael. They want info on the Roosters but I don’t – I don’t have those kinds of connections.” He looked to Jack with rage in his eyes. “They threatened to keep hurting him till we give them what they want.”

It was all too much. It felt like time slowed down. Ryan had never been so angry before; he saw red, the fury in his gut mixing with a terror he didn’t even know he could feel. His stomach churned as he let out a deep growl, storming out of the room.

“Ryan, stop!” Geoff called out to him as he practically ran down the hallway. He could make out the sound of him ordering Jeremy to follow him, his best friend’s voice shouting after him and echoing through the penthouse. But he ignored all of it, his ears buzzing, his mind focused on only one thing: find Michael. He had to find Michael.

Taking the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator, he made it to the garage in record time. The sound of Jeremy running after him continued the whole way down but Ryan knew that if he could just get into a car, he could make it past him. He skidded to a halt next to Michael’s chrome Adder, ripping the door open and sliding into the seat. With a quick internal thanks to Michael for always leaving his keys in the ignition, he started the car and peeled out of its parking space to make his way towards the garage door.

The only issue was Jeremy stood in the opening, spreading his arms out wide with a look of determination on his face.

Ryan slammed on the breaks before he could hit him and rolled the windows down to shout at his friend.

“Get out of the way, Jeremy! I don’t want to have to run you down!”

Jeremy shook his head and stood his ground. “You wouldn’t do that and you know it!” Ryan let out another growl. “Get out of the car and we can figure out a plan to get Michael back, together!”

He pounded the steering wheel. “No! He doesn’t have the time!”

“And where the fuck do you think he is, huh? Do you have any idea? Because if you do, Ryan, you better fucking tell us or I swear to god–“

At that, Ryan choked on his own breath; did he know where Michael was? Did he even have a clue? He’d been so filled with panic and anger that he’d leapt into action before even knowing anything. That photo could have been taken anywhere and Michael very well could have been moved since it was sent to them. He cursed loudly, putting the car in park and shutting off the engine.

Jeremy let his arms drop as he slowly approached the car.

“Listen, Rye, I know you’re worried – fuck, so are we all! But we can’t help him if we don’t find him first and make a plan. These guys are not to be fucked with and we need to be prepared.”

Ryan slumped in his seat, only then noticing the sharp pain in his ribs from the running. He could feel the burning in his chest start to fizzle out as a deep, all-consuming ache began to spread through his bones. His hands shook as they gripped the wheel.

Approaching warily, Jeremy slowly opened the driver side door and crouched down next to Ryan. “We’ll get him back, yeah? We’ll find him and we’ll kill all of those bastards that took him.”

Ryan heaved, a broken sob ripping out of his throat.

“Hey, hey, I got you buddy,” Jeremy said softly, his arms reaching out to wrap around Ryan. “I’m right here, Rye, you’re ok.”

Ryan could feel the beginnings of a panic attack forming in his chest, the uncontrollable shaking in his hands spreading to the rest of his body.

“I – I told him I had his back, Jeremy,” he choked out as shivers wracked through his limbs. “I told h-him that I’d keep him s-safe. He trusted m-me and I j-just let him go and n-now he’s gone and it’s all my fault it’s all m-my f-fault it’s all m-”

Jeremy’s embrace tightened, cutting him off. “Shhh, I know, buddy, I know. We’ll find him, I promise. Together – the whole crew – we’ll find him and get him back. Sh, I’m here, let it all out, it’s ok.”

Finally, Ryan let the full force of the panic attack take him, his whole body quaking in Jeremy’s hold. The ache in his bones grew almost unbearable as it spread to his heart, where all he could feel was fear and helplessness.

How could he have let this happen? He’d promised Michael that he wouldn’t let those monsters get him but he’d failed. Why did he tell him to go? Why didn’t he just do a better job of protecting him while they were together? He should never have sent him away during the fight. _This is all my fault._ Guilty thoughts raged through Ryan’s head, each one worse than the last. The image of Michael bound and bloody on the floor popped up in his mind’s eye and the violent urge to vomit coursed through his body; he felt himself gag but managed to keep it in, though his throat still burned.

The Vagabond didn’t have panic attacks but Ryan Haywood sure as fuck did.

Even through the chaotic haze in his mind, he felt like he should be embarrassed for falling apart like this in front of one of his crew; he often had panic attacks but he kept them to himself, in his room, late at night. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jeremy’s presence, along with his steady stream of soft assurances, slowly brought him down; his simply being there comforted him in a way he hadn’t let himself be before.

Ten minutes passed and the sobs eventually subsided. Ryan shuddered one last time and let out a heavy sigh. Jeremy released his hold on him but kept one hand on his shoulder. His best friend’s next words were spoken delicately, like he was afraid he’d set Ryan off again if he spoke too loud or too fast.

“Better?” Ryan nodded. “Ok, then let’s head back up to the others and we can start planning.”

With Jeremy’s help, Ryan stepped out of the Adder, legs unsteady beneath him. They made their way to the elevator, silent except for the still slightly ragged breaths of Ryan. His mind raced through the exhaustion that he felt; dozens of scenarios ran through his head as he imagined what could happen to Michael while they searched for him. He hoped that the others had some sort of clue as to where he was being kept. Gavin had already been tracking the Devil’s down, he was sure to now be doubling his efforts. Ryan watched as Jeremy scanned his key card to gain access to the top floor and leaned on him a little more for comfort. The lad said nothing but squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.

When the doors opened into the penthouse, the others were waiting in the living room. Their eyes all snapped to them simultaneously. Geoff rose from his seat and made a move like he was going to approach but stopped mid step, face concerned as he took in Ryan’s appearance. He looked to Jeremy for answers.

“We’re all good,” the shorter man said in a calm voice. He lead Ryan to a couch and sat down next to him, arm still on his shoulder. He looked around at the crew. “Do we have anything new?”

Geoff sat back down across from the two of them. “Gav’s working on something,” He said, voice equally as soft as Jeremy’s. “He’s the best at what he does; he’ll find something.”

Ryan just nodded in response, his eyes cast towards the floor. It was good to know that Gavin had already started searching but it didn’t do much to ease the heavy feeling in his gut.

Jack stepped forward, her gentle voice filled with determination. She laid a strong hand on Ryan’s other shoulder. “Ryan, look at me.” He shifted so he was slightly facing her but his eyes remained trained on the carpet. Jack gave his arm a little shake. “Please.”

If ever there was someone that Ryan respected and trusted more than Jack, he couldn’t remember; she had been the first one to accept him into the crew, the first person in his life to actually listen to his ideas, and the first person he ever removed his mask in front of since becoming the Vagabond. She never bull-shitted him and had saved his life more times than he could count. She was only a few years older than him but the amount of respect that he had for her grew every day. He finally raised his head, meeting her gaze as she looked down at him, a fierceness to her eyes that never failed to give him strength.

“We will find him,” she assured. “Trust Gavin to track down some clues. I’ve got Matt working with him as well, and you know how they are when they put those clever heads of theirs together. Trevor called and said he’s got B Team out and canvasing the city.” She paused, glancing up at Geoff. “And I called Meg; her connections have helped us dozens of times in the past. She even said this one was pro-bono.”

Geoff snorted. “You know what? We can use all the help we can get. I’m gonna go call Burnie and let him know the situation. Maybe he’ll be able to shed some light on this whole shit show.”

“See, we’re all working on this, Rye; we’re all here for you but we need you to stay strong so we can find Michael.”

The more Jack said, the better Ryan felt; he could feel the fear subsiding a little bit and the simmering fury return. He looked to Geoff, some of his usual confidence back in his eyes.

“Alright, tell me what I need to do.”

………………………………………………

Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? Sometimes, like in a car crash, it feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Other times, like during a really nice vacation, it whizzes past in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t really a rhyme or reason to it, it just sort of went around and did whatever it wanted to almost like a real, living thing.

But it was different for Michael while he was in that tiny room; time wasn’t fast or slow, it was garbled and mixed up, missing chunks, and overall a real fucking mess. He had no idea what time of the day it was or how many hours had passed since the last time he was visited by his jailers. Every time he managed to fall asleep, someone would wake him up with a loud noise or a bucket of water to his face or a kick to his stomach or a shock from a cattle prod or a – they barely fed him and water was only ever given to him by one of the brothers, sparingly so, just enough to keep him alive so they could torture him some more.

It was useless though, really, since all Michael ever gave them was bloody spit on their faces and curses mumbled around split lips and aching ribs. He never once gave up any information on the Roosters or his crew, no matter how hard Reggie kicked or how deep Anthony’s knife cut into his arms. There was no pain in the world he wouldn't endure if it meant keeping his family safe, and the Roosters might not be that close but Burnie and Gus had helped the Fakes out more times than he liked to admit so Michael felt like he owed them some sort of loyalty too.

The lack of any light in the room meant that would sometimes see strange things. Shapes that moved and morphed and swam in his vision. In that moment of his warped sense of time, Michael saw a hulking shadow approach him and reach its hands out towards his throat. He tried to move away but hit the wall behind him. A dark chuckle filled his ears as the thing’s hands grabbed a hold of his neck and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t bre – the shadows had never touched him before. Why were they touching him? _Why were they touching him?_

“Michael, you know better than to sleep on the job,” the thing said. “Wakey wakey, we have work to do!”

Suddenly the vision wasn’t a vision anymore and Michael was being viciously woken up by the hands around his neck shaking him, his head jostling around painfully. The light in the room was on and he could see a couple real shadows stretching across the floor. When he looked up, eyes watering, he found that Anthony was the one attached to the hands and that Dante was standing behind him, a hammer held in his hand.

“Let him go, Tony, I’d like to talk to him now that he’s joined us in reality.”

As soon as his throat was freed, Michael took several gasping breaths of air. He coughed a few times, all the while glaring up at Dante. Seeing him for the first time in who knows how long sent a shiver up the lad’s spine, especially when Dante raised the hammer up to rub his other hand on the head of it.

“The boys tell me that you haven’t been very cooperative, Michael.”

“Been a real pain in our asses,” Anthony sneered.

“That’s really not very nice, Michael. I thought you knew better than that! This would all be over quicker if you would just tell us what we want.”

Michael let out a huff, his voice rough as he responded. “You might as well kill me then because I’m not giving you anything.”

“But that’d ruin all the fun!” Dante’s eyes were filled with malice as he stepped closer, booping him on the nose with a gloved finger. “But don’t think that I have any qualms about killing you, little wolf.”

Michael snorted. “That’s a mighty big word there Dante, you finally learn how to fuckin’ read while I was gone?”

Dante’s smug face instantly distorted into blind rage. He lunged forward and grabbed Michael’s right wrist, pressing it against the wall. “You are still just as snarky as you used to be, I see. Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

With that, Dante swung his hammer up and into Michael’s hand. There was a sickening crunch and a terrible shriek and Michael’s whole world whited out for several seconds, the pain so overwhelming that he thought he might pass out. Traitorous tears began to spill from his eyes and he could feel himself begin to hyperventilate. He vaguely registered his wrist being let go of.

The look of feigned nonchalance was back on Dante’s face, all traces of his manic fury hidden behind a mask of indifference. “Always so stubborn, even when you’re the one on the losing side. You need to learn to pick your battles, little wolf.” He reached out again, grabbing Michael’s chin lightly and easily forcing it up to face him. “But all stallions must be broken before they submit, Michael, and I am not afraid to get a little dirty.”

Michael’s head was still swimming. He could barely focus on the other man.

“I expect you to start playing nice or I’ll have to come back and teach you some lessons in manners.” Tilting his head slightly, he swiped his thumb slowly over Michael’s bottom lip, watching it as he did so. “Although, I think I might enjoy that quite a bit.”

Somehow, Michael mustered up enough strength to rip his head away, causing a distorted grin to form on Dante’s face.

“Fuck you,” Michael spat.

The smile on Dante’s face grew cruel. “All in good time, little wolf, all in good time.”

Michael barely had enough time to register Anthony moving in closer before a needle was being jabbed into his arm and a sticky warmth began to spread through his body. Gray expanded into his vision from its edges and his already throbbing head was filled with an extremely strong sense of vertigo. Time was being fucky again too; one second, Dante and Anthony were right there and the next, they were gone and the light was off again. And the second after that, the shadows began to move again, black tendrils wrapping around him in a familiar embrace.

 _Please hurry,_ he thought, mind racing in fear. _Please come and find me._

………………………………………………

It’d been weeks – _weeks –_ since Michael was taken. The Devils hadn’t sent any more photos or letters and nothing worthwhile had been found to help them find him. Their original letter had said that they would continue to hurt Michael till they got the information that they wanted but they had yet to send anything else that elaborated or expanded upon that threat. Ryan’s ribs had long since settled and he could move around without much discomfort but he was still consumed by painful anxiety and guilt. He was exhausted, his whole existence filled with nothing but trying to find Michael. If he let himself sit too long without doing anything, he would feel the negative thoughts begin to take over. Sleeping became almost a chore or a punishment to him, his dreams filled with images of Michael’s dead body.

But he wasn’t the only one suffering; Gavin was trying, he really was, but Michael was his best friend and he wasn’t taking the whole situation very well at all. He would almost have the others convinced if they didn’t know him any better. They all knew he had nightmares, they could hear him wake up at night screaming. But they also knew how he would just push them away if they brought it up, insisting that he was fine. He burned all of his energy on trying to track down the Devils, spending his time locked up in his office for hours and hours till Geoff or Jack pulled him out to eat and go to bed.

Jeremy took to sleeping on the floor in front of Gavin’s room in case the nightmares got out of hand. Ryan had seen him quietly sneaking out of the actual room in the early hours of the morning a few times.

The others were dealing with things in their own ways: Geoff struggled with his sobriety, downing numerous cups of coffee every day to get by. Jack was outwardly calm and her usual supportive self but everyone could hear her crying in the bathroom when she thought she was quiet enough. Jeremy began to act out, pick fights at bars several nights out of the week, and spent countless hours down in the shooting range. Even B-Team was struggling, with Matt practically a ghost and camped in his room all day on his computer, and Trevor, Alfredo, Lindsay, and Fiona tirelessly canvasing the whole city for information.

So yeah, Ryan knew he wasn’t the only one filled with panic and driven by obsessive behavior but he couldn’t help but feel alone in the depth of his feelings. He knew that the others also loved Michael, in their own ways, but the way Ryan felt about him? It was so much more than familial and platonic affection; it was absolute, desperate, all-consuming. Sometimes, he was overwhelmed by how strong his emotions were, how fiercely he loved the other man. The fact that Michael was somewhere where he couldn’t reach him, in pain and trapped, was driving him mad.

The guilt was crushing him. He had failed Michael, plain and simple. The man that he loved more than anything else in the world was being tortured by sadistic fucks and Ryan had practically handed him to them on a silver platter. He could feel himself losing it, so he focused his energy on following up on any and all leads that the others found. Often, Jeremy would join him – the Battle Buddies were a highly effective team, after all. The action helped calm some of his nerves. Sometimes they would find someone with connections to the Devils but they never proved to be useful. He would use them as stress relief; Jeremy never said anything when Ryan slit their throats, never did anything but help him dispose of the bodies. A few times, Jeremy even held their quarry down to help.

They were a _really_ good team.

……………………………………………….

Where were they?

( _g_ _one_ )

Where was his crew, his family?

( _help me_ )

Why hadn’t they come for him?

( _please_ )

Had they given up, forgotten him, or figured he was dead?

There was an obscure idea in his head that Dante might have told them he was dead but everything was so foggy that he had trouble pinning any thought down. He wasn’t quite sure of anything anymore, really.

Except, of course, that he was alone.

( _alone_ )

He had been in this tiny room for weeks – months? years? – and his only visitors had been the Marino brothers and every now and again Dante himself. Their presence only meant more pain and he began to dread the light; light meant the return of his torturers. It was an endless cycle of darkness, heavy blows, knives to skin, and then darkness again. He barely slept. He was so thirsty ( _it hurts_ ) and his stomach growled constantly. A few of his nastier wounds were sloppily patched up just to keep him alive enough to hurt some more.

He had held out this long though, never once revealing anything about the Fakes or the Roosters, but he knew it wasn’t long now before Dante realized that he would never break and finally just killed him. And honestly, he welcomed death; he was in so much agony and his heart ached every time he thought of his crew ( _where were they?_ ), their faces taunting him in the few dreams he managed to have.

But there was one face that haunted him the most.

_Ryan._

Beautiful, dangerous, clever Ryan, with his piercing eyes and statuesque features. Ryan with his crooked smile, his warm laughter, his _everything_. No matter how his dreams with Ryan started, they always ended with the gent either dying in his arms or laughing at him as he was again locked up the tiny room. Because that’s what he feared above all else, wasn’t it? Being left behind, abandoned by the people he cared for most ( _why hadn’t they come for him?_ ). When it was Ryan though, it hurt the most.

Because he burned for Ryan, saw him in his cell during his most delirious moments, concentrated on the image of his face to keep himself from breaking down when Dante pressed burning metal to his flesh. Every atom in his body cried out for the comfort of the older man’s embrace. His smile in the face of torture was fueled by the memory ( _where are you?_ ) of their hurried kissed behind that upturned SUV.

He was sure that these thoughts were the only things holding him together.

But it had been so long, _so long_ since he had been taken. His hope was running thin and it was becoming more and more difficult to drag up those very memories. He wasn’t even sure about his own name anymore.

( _they’re not coming_ )

His time was almost up, he could tell by how frustrated Dante was becoming and how painful his tortures had become at the hands of Anthony and Reggie.

( _they think you’re dead_ )

It wouldn't be long now, he knew how they worked; his crew had very little time left to find him in one piece, to save him.

( _they don’t want you_ )

He could feel the end coming, however it went down.

( _they’re not coming_ )

( _they’re not coming_ )

( _he’s not coming_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the next chapter will be waaaay less angsty <3
> 
> Hit me up on that [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com) so you can yell at me.


	7. I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours

It had been forty six days since Michael was taken, forty six days of desperate searching but finding nothing, and Gavin had finally, _finally_ found a solid lead. It was small and maybe wouldn’t actually lead them anywhere but it was the best thing they had found so far and their best chance at finding Michael. Gavin had almost collapsed from hyperventilation, he was so hurried to tell the rest of the crew. Maybe it would be another dead end, maybe they would have to start back at the drawing board again, but Ryan was going to take whatever he could get and Gavin seemed so confident about this one.

There was a warehouse, towards the edges of the city, that was owned by a former contact of the original Jersey Devil’s boss. Almost no record of it existed except for a tiny data file in the city planning records, buried beneath pointless information and backlogs. Gavin had been pu t ting in a last ditch effort to find possible locations suitable for hiding whether they had connections to Dante or not and he’d stumbled across it. With slightly more digging and the help of B-Team’s surveillance, he had determined it to be a top candidate. Geoff agreed that it was more than worth checking out and immediately ordered a thorough investigation. 

The day after Gavin found the building, a known member of the Devils was spotted entering the fenced courtyard in the back and guards were seen patrolling the area. A plan was quickly made and soon they were all outfitted to go.

Ryan forwent his mask as he ran to his car, heart racing with the possibility of finding Michael. Even if he wasn’t in the warehouse, there were probably more than enough people to interrogate about his location and he’d be able to exact some of his revenge on them. Two birds with one stone, right?

He didn’t bother waiting for the others to get to the garage before he was speeding away towards the outskirts of town. Alfredo and Jeremy were rapidly discussing their part of the plan over the coms, their voices barely registering in Ryan’s brain. It was only when he heard his name that he actively tuned in.

“ _Ryan, don’t get too far ahead of us or we won’t be able to provide cover_.” Jeremy sounded determined. “ _Fredo and I will do our best but we don’t know exactly what to expect when we get in there_.”

Ryan grunted in response, pushing the gas pedal down further.

The next voice to speak was Jack, her calming voice a balm on his nerves. “ _We’re almost to the hospital; we should have a helicopter ready to go soon. I’ll keep everyone updated. Geoff and Gavin are working on the police._ ”

He could feel his pulse growing even faster as he neared the area the warehouse was located. Everything was so nondescript, so plain and _normal_ that it felt weird that it might be where torture was happening just behind closed doors. It felt perverse, like a pollution of an otherwise average industrial side of the city. When he reached the actual building itself, that feeling became stronger; how could something so awful be happening in a place so, well, boring?

Ryan pulled over just across the street from the front of the warehouse. It took everything in him to wait the extra minute for Jeremy and Alfredo to arrive and as soon as they parked, he was out and running towards the space between the building’s wall and the fence, back to the rear entrance where B-Team had seen the Devil enter. Two other sets of footsteps followed. He lifted his gun and rounded the corner, bullets already flying; stealth may have been a better option but there was no way he would be able to hold himself back from slaughtering all of the Devils he saw.

It was easy for the three of them to mow down the few people outside; they were all excellent shots. As planned, Alfredo split off to find a good place to snipe from while Jeremy stood his ground outside so that Ryan could go into the building.

“Remember,” Jeremy shouted as Ryan ripped the back door open. “If he’s not in there, we need at least a few of them alive!”

But Ryan was already inside, pulse in his throat, shooting anything that so much as moved. There were several Devils, all of them caught off guard at first but soon enough shooting back at him. Ryan though – Ryan was gone, replaced by the Vagabond, and there was _nothing_ that was going to keep him from his goal.

When the hall he was in was clear, he burst into a side room and found a singular man standing behind a desk with a gun pointed at the door. Before he could shoot, Ryan ducked down and fired a round directly into the hand holding the gun. The man dropped it with a cry and Ryan tackled him to the ground.

“Where is he!” He roared. “Where are you keeping him!”

The man below him tried to wriggle out from underneath him but to no avail.

Ryan slammed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple. “Tell me where he is or I will blow your fucking brains out!”

“He’s further in!” The Devil whined, eyes flicking back and forth from the gun to Ryan’s eyes. “Room’s marked with a 406, down past the storage bay!”

There was not an ounce of remorse as Ryan pulled the trigger.

More people had come out to find him while he had been busy; loud gunfire came from all sides as he made his way methodically through the building. For every room he cleared, Ryan grew more and more frenzied. The further he went into the building, the closer the numbers on the doors got to 406. Finally he reached the empty storage area, where he was met with dozens of Devils, all firing mercilessly at him. But the Vagabond never backs down; the Vagabond is afraid of no man, does not falter in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. He is fury, he is terror, he is a nightmare. And now he knew Michael was in there, just a bit further down the halls.

He was _unstoppable_.

…………………………………………………...

Michael jerked awake to the distant sound of gunfire. He could hear orders and curses being shouted on the other side of his cell walls. The tiny ember of hope lingering in the pit of his stomach flared; _they found me_.

Suddenly, the door was being opened and Dante was stepping into the room. He quickly shut the door behind himself and stood panting, staring at his feet while his arms held him up against the metal, back to Michael.

“Your friends are causing me quite a bit of trouble, Michael,” He growled. “Especially your _little crush._ ”

Michael’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t help but let out a small whimper.

Dante turned to face him, sadistic smile on his face. “Oh yes, little wolf, I know all about your precious _Vagabond_ ; he’s been a real thorn in my side for the past six weeks, constantly digging into my business and harassing my contacts. Came close to finding you a couple times, too. I wasn’t sure at first but then I overheard him talking to the short one and my suspicions of his feelings and connection to you were confirmed.”

Pulling against his restraints with renewed energy, weak as his attempts were, Michael leaned as far forward as he could to glare and Dante. “You shut up about him.”

“I would but it seems he’s hell bent on getting inside and I just wanted to let you in on my plans for him, seeing as you two are so close.” He moved forward, pulling a long knife from his belt. The sounds of combat were getting closer “I hope he’s wearing his mask; I have a thing for mysterious men.”

_No. No no no no no no –_

“When I get my hands on him,” Dante gave a small chuckle, the corners of his mouth curling. “I’m going to have so much _fun_! And maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you watch me tear him limb. From. _Limb_.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him.” Michael’s voice was rough and filled with a rage he had almost thought beaten out of him.

Dante’s smile grew impossibly crueler. “Oh, Mikey, I’m going to touch him whether you’re watching or not; he’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” He paused to look down at the knife in his hand. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

Michael didn’t even have the time or energy to scream; the knife was so deep in his lower chest, sunk into the flesh right below his ribs. He couldn’t breathe. White hot pain shot through his very being. Dante snarled as he twisted the blade, blood rushing out of Michael’s body in hot rivulets. His body convulsed around the blade.

“I’ll enjoy watching your face while I fillet your sweet Vagabond alive.” The knife was suddenly ripped down and then out. Dante leaned forward and whispered directly into Michael’s ear. “You’ll live long enough to die together. Isn’t that sweet, little wolf? But you will never, _ever_ be free of me; I’ll always be watching you, and that’s the sweetest thing of all.”

And the, things happened so fast that Michael could barely keep up. One second, the door was being bashed in and Dante was whipping his head around towards the noise, and the next, Ryan was two feet from him. The gent didn’t even give Dante a chance to say a word; he immediately moved forward, put the barrel of his gun against Dante’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. If Michael was more in his right mind he might have been mildly disgusted by the brain matter that flew onto the wall, or the blood that splattered all over the floor. But he was just so glad to see him.

A mask-less Ryan stood there, breathing heavily, for a few seconds before seemingly coming back to himself. He took two shots at the chains hold up Michael’s arms allowing them to fall down to his sides and then quickly dropped to his knees beside the injured lad. Just his mere presence made Michael feel calm. He had finally found him.

“Hey big guy,” he croaked.

Ryan made a choked noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Michael could feel him shake as he bent down to put their foreheads together. There was a hand cradling his face. With what strength he could muster, he reached up to grasp the older man’s arm, giving it a light squeeze in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He vaguely registered a heavy pressure on the middle of his abdomen where Dante had shoved his blade – Ryan must have been attempting to slow the bleeding as best he could. Each breath he took burned but the place where his skin met Ryan’s burned hotter, those familiar tingles radiating faintly. Ryan smelled like iron and soil, gunpowder and ozone. He smelled like _safety._ The memory of their first kiss kept flitting across the backs of his eyelids every time he slowly blinked.

When he tried to speak again though, to try and calm Ryan more, Michael felt something bubble up in his throat, making him cough, warm liquid sticking to his lips. It tasted like copper. He tried again.

“Was th-that you making all that noise in the hall or – or d-did you bring the others?”

Ryan pulled away, a strained crease between his brows forming when he saw what Michael knew to be blood at the corner of his mouth. The older man used his thumb to wipe it away, frowning as he did so. “It’s just me inside; Jeremy and Alfredo are just outside and the rest are incoming. Jack even got a medical chopper, all for you. Everything’s all ready for you back home.”

Michael sighed, hand falling from Ryan’s arm; the gent caught it and held it tightly against his own chest. “G-guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you went in s-solo, huh? You were always k-kinda fuckin’ crazy.”

A small laugh escaped Ryan’s lips. “Yeah, so you’ve told me.”

Michael could barely feel his hands at this point; all that was there was an intense chill and the faint feeling of Ryan using his thumb to rub the knuckles of the hand he was holding against his body. It felt nice, or at least he knew it would feel nice if he could appreciate it fully. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should be in a lot of pain but he just couldn’t quite remember why.

“I-it’s good though,” the lad continued, voice barely a whisper. “I think I have a thing for c-crazy.”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth crooked up as he huffed out a strained laugh. “I think maybe you’re just a bit stupid.” He leaned back in to press a light kiss to Michael’s forehead, heedless of the blood and sweat smeared there.

Michael hummed in agreement, closing his eyes and smiling softly to himself. He could feel the black tendrils of oblivion tugging at him, the draw of sleep looking more and more tempting. The cold of his limbs barely registered at that point, all of his attention on the place where Ryan’s lips had just been. He wanted so much to ask him to do it again.

“Stupidly in love with you,” he whispered instead.

He felt Ryan’s arms jerk, his sudden intake of breath freezing his whole body. For a split second, Michael felt a mote of panic float through his mind at the thought that Ryan didn’t feel the same way, that everything had been a fever dream. This fear was almost immediately wiped away by the feeling of warm lips on his own cold ones, Ryan’s fingers shaking once again as they carefully, oh so carefully, cupped the side of his face once again to hold him steady.

This kiss was different from their first panic-fueled one; it was soft, chaste, and Michael didn’t feel a desperate hunger or taste the sharp flavor of fear. He was instead filled with what felt like a thousand lightning bugs, his heart doing flips in his chest. He’d honestly never believed in any of those cheesy romance film tropes about feeling a certain spark when you kissed the person you loved but by god did he believe it now. It had always been Gavin who had ranted on and on about _true love_ and _soulmates,_ _Michael, doesn’t that sound wonderful?_ Michael had only ever teased him for being a hopeless romantic. _He’ll be so happy when I tell him it’s all real._

When they finally parted, Ryan kept his face close, his nose bumping Michael’s slightly every time he took a breath. Michael desperately wanted to see what he looked like, wanted to see if his cheeks got flushed or if his eyes looked dazed, but he couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes even a little bit. He knew he was dead weight in Ryan’s arms and he hated it; he wanted to wrap the gent up in his embrace and kiss him senseless, to truly let him know the depth of his affection. He settled for another small smile, the muscles of his face twitching with the effort. Ryan’s knuckles wiping across his cheekbone was only the faintest of feelings.

“Michael,” Ryan implored, his voice wrecked. “Michael, sweetheart, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? Jack’s almost here. You gotta stay awake so she can take you to see the doc.”

Sweetheart _?_ Michael vaguely registered the endearment, Ryan’s soft southern lilt sneaking into it. Oh, he liked that one, he liked that very much. He liked the way it sounded coming from Ryan. What a secret sap he was! His mind was sluggish as he tried to come up with a response, none of his thoughts connecting. When he tried to say something, only blood rose to his lips and his voice died in his throat. The familiar burn of rage gave a weak roar at his inability to move but it was quickly overrun by the blanket of exhaustion that had begun to engulf him. He was just so tired.

“Michael? No no no no no-”

He could no longer feel the cold.

“ _Fuck,_ Michael, _please_ , stay awake, you gotta...”

Ryan’s voice sounded like he was speaking to him from above water while he was submerged, Michael’s head full of a silent buzz that muffled even his own heartbeat.

“...Jack’s almost...”

Jack? Jack was coming? But Michael liked being alone with Ryan, knowing it was just the two of them. He felt more relaxed this way. Yeah, he was safe; he could sleep now.

“... _Michael!_ ”

Oh, he loved the way it sounded when Ryan said his name.

But why did he sound so far away?  


…………………………………………………….

Ryan was proud of a lot of things; he was an expert with a knife, he made the best pancakes on the west coast (just ask Jack), and he knew how to handle himself in emergency situations. Explosion go off too early and you got burned? He’s on it. Broke a bone? He knows exactly how to set it so it heals properly. Got shot in the shoulder and the bullet never made it out the other side? There’s a set of small tools in his bag meant specifically to go digging in flesh with minimal damage. He’d patched himself up more times than he could count and field dressed the other crew members at safe houses dozens of times. Blood sure as hell didn’t freak him out and Steffie had even said he was the next best option if the team couldn’t get her or Lindsay.

But this severe of a stab wound? This much damage to the body over so long a period of time? Ryan had no idea how to fix that and it scared him _shitless_.

He’d been calling Michael’s name desperately for several minutes but the lad had long since lost consciousness, his head lolling to the side as Ryan tried to hold him up. The older man kept one shaking hand to Michael’s neck while the other remained pressed hard against the lad’s gut, a slow and barely noticeable pulse giving him the only sign that he was still alive. He would give anything, _do_ anything, in exchange for Michael’s life. The universe hadn’t granted Ryan many boons over his life but this time it gave him one in the form of a fiery redhead in a Hawaiian shirt.

As if on cue, Jack’s voice crackled over the coms, tinny and small.

“ _We’re one minute out, V, what’s your status?_ ”

Ryan felt a sliver of relief. “I’ve got Michael but he’s – he’s real bad,” he managed to stumble out. “He was awake when I got here but he passed out like five minutes ago. I think Dante stabbed him right before I got here. He’s real fuckin’ bad, Jack, and I don’t know what to do. He’s lost so much blood.”

“W _e’re almost there, just keep talking_ _.”_ Ryan continued to stare at Michael’s seemingly lifeless body, the freckles on his face standing out even more against his pallid skin. “ _What should we expect?_ ”

“He’s got, uh, several old knife wounds and a big fresh one, and he probably got whacked on the head a good few times judging by the blood.” Glancing at the few inches of exposed skin at Michael’s abdomen that could be seen beneath all the blood, Ryan swallowed heavily and continued. “Looks like massive internal bleeding too, if the bruises are anything to go by.”

Michael’s stomach looked like the tail end of a sunset, all dark purples and crimsons.

“ _Shit.”_ Even over the coms, Ryan could hear the strain in Jack’s normally calm voice. “ _Right, ok, can he be moved?”_

Ryan nodded his head stiffly to himself as he answered, gently adjusting Michael so that he could be handled easier, his hand still putting pressure on the stab wound. “Yeah, I think...yeah, I got him.”

“ _Good; get him outside where we can pick him up as soon as we get there. Hey Fredo, you guys have it clear out there?_ ”

Alfredo’s voice responded, the sound of gunfire in the background muffled. “ _As clear as it’s gonna get for the time being;_ _Lil J’s taking care of the last of them but I’ve got a space emptied for you to land._ ” A loud crack of a sniper rifle echoed over the earpiece. “ _Better hurry though; Gav says the_ _re’s_ _more incoming_.”

Ryan tucked his pistol into its hip holster, slipped his rifle’s strap around his shoulder so the gun could rest at his back, and cautiously picked up Michael, one arm under his knees and the other around his chest. He was halfway down the hall when Jack gave notice that she was landing in the back lot of the building, back where Ryan had originally come in from. With every step he took, the sound of the helicopter’s blades got louder, their w _hump-_ _w_ _hump-_ _w_ _hump_ reverberating in the gent’s sore chest. Just-healed ribs or not, he was going to get Michael out of that hell hole.

Not for the first time in his life, Ryan was glad that he had an excellent memory; the building the Devil’s had picked for their temporary home base was practically a maze, with too many halls and too many doors. It helped that there was a trail of bodies left from when he had come raging in, like a perverse trail of bread crumbs. When he finally reached the back door, he kicked it open with so much force it hit the outside wall with a slam that was all but swallowed up by the noise of the helicopter.

The door to the medical chopper – “Los Santos Municipal Hospital” printed nicely on the side in blue – slid open and two figures jumped out; Ryan recognized them as Steffie and Sarah, the crew’s medical team. Sarah’s face was grim as she ran to help Ryan, while Steffie pulled out the body board. Together, they strapped Michael down and got him into the copter. As she climbed in to follow, Steffie turned around and looked at Ryan with worried but determined eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but you’re gonna have to meet us at home; there’s not enough room for all of us.” She had to shout to be heard above the blades.

A solid mass settled in the pit of Ryan’s stomach as he stared back at her. “What? No! I need to be with him!” He could feel himself start to lose control again, his hands trembling as he reached out. “I just found him! I can’t -”

“RYAN!” Jack interrupted from the cockpit, her body twisted so she could stare him down. “Let them do their jobs! I will keep you updated, I promise! But right now, you gotta let Steffie go so we can take off!”

With a jolt, Ryan realized that he had grabbed onto Steffie’s arm, preventing her from entering the helicopter fully. He let go immediately, wrenching his hand back like it had been burned. He backed away, watching and holding his breath as she buckled herself in next to Michael’s motionless body.

“I promise, Ryan, we’re going to do everything we can to save him. Now go!”

Stepping away from the helicopter was the hardest thing Ryan had ever done before, worse even than pushing Michael away the day he’d been taken; his very soul screamed at him to keep Michael in his sights, to stay by his side and never let him go again. He had failed him once and now it felt like he was failing him all over again. How was he supposed to protect him if he couldn’t even be with him?

When the chopper door slammed shut, the weight in his belly transformed into a large lump of burning coal, scorching his insides as a familiar madness filled him all the way to his fingertips. Reaching behind him, he gripped his rifle and pulled it around front, sliding in a brand new clip from his belt. As Jack maneuvered the helicopter up and away, Ryan turned back toward the building and lifted the gun, ready to fire.

“Alfredo, what’s your position?” He demanded over the coms, voice rough.

“ _Rooftop, to your left,_ ” he responded. Ryan looked left and saw a small flash as Alfredo lifted the barrel of his sniper so it reflected the sunlight.

A steady English voice chimed into the conversation. “ _You’ve got incoming, lads;_ _twelve_ _from the north and an_ _d two_ _SUV_ _s_ _coming up front.”_

“ _Roger that, Gav; I’m on my way to the front,”_ came Jeremy’s reply. He sounded out of breath. The not-so-distant crack of an AP pistol echoed off the surrounding buildings. “ _Shit, yeah, there the fuck they are._ ”

“Keep them there, Lil J; Fredo and I have it covered back here,” Ryan practically growled, quickly ducking behind a large shipping crate. There was a sound of affirmation from the other end of the line and more gunfire coming from the opposite side of the warehouse. He peaked slightly around the side of the container to get a view of the area. “Gav, let us know when they’re here.”

Before Gavin could confirm that he’d heard him, the edge of the box by Ryan’s face exploded in a shower of wooden splinters. He whipped back around, dozens more bullets smashing into the crate and the side of the warehouse.

“ _Uh, they’re here?_ ”

The tell-tale muffled _BLAM_ of Alfredo’s sniper rifle reverberated off the warehouse’s metal siding and the gunfire ceased. “ _There’s another one coming out of the alley,”_ he advised, voice even.

Ryan used this reprieve to duck out from cover and move so he could fire into the opening of said alley. The blood in his veins boiled with anger and fear, pushing him away from safety and towards the Devils. He moved where Alfredo and Gavin directed him, shooting before looking, relying on his crew to lead him. When he needed to, he would hide behind crates, dumpsters, whatever there was big enough to cover his whole body. His belt and pockets began to feel lighter as he emptied clip after clip, not even bothering to look at the bodies that they produced; he just kept pushing forward.

Eventually, Gavin gave the all clear; there were no signs of the Devils anywhere nearby. He did warn them however that the cops were on their way. Jeremy confirmed that the SUVs were taken care of and that he was going to come around back with the get away vehicle – they would have to leave one of their cars on the street for now. Ryan just stood there, gun in his hands, and stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the pounding in his head as he attempted to catch his breath.

A familiar voice called his name but Ryan’s mind was focused on a dark, dried smear of blood on his hands. Michael’s blood.

“Ryan!” The voice called again, closer this time.

Looking up, Ryan saw Alfredo jogging up to him, face full of concern and sniper slung over his back.

“Come on man, we gotta get moving; Lil J’ll be here in just a sec so we can scram before the cops get here.” As if to echo his point, the shrill sound of sirens rang from just a few blocks away.

Shaking his head a little, Ryan turned stiffly to walk towards Alfredo, hands still clutching tight to his gun. Just as he reached the younger man, a matte black X80 raced around the corner of the warehouse, tires screeching on the asphalt when it slammed to a stop in front of them. The passenger side door opened and Jeremy leaned out, his cowboy hat nowhere to be seen and a bloody hole in the arm of his purple jacket.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here, boys!”

Ryan wasted no time in jumping into the passenger seat and Jeremy started accelerating away before either he or Alfredo had fully seated themselves, the doors slamming shut from the force. Right as they blasted out of the alley onto the main street, four cop cars raced by going the other way. Ryan thought for a split second that at least one would change directions to follow them – after all, what’s more conspicuous than a jet black super car careening off of a side street, coming directly from the scene you were just called to? - but Los Santos had never been known to produce the smartest of police officers.

They were halfway back to the penthouse when the call from Geoff came.

“ _We’re moving him to a real hospital_ ,” he informed them, voice tight even over the coms. “ _We’re just not equipped to handle the severity of his injuries._ ”

Ryan cursed under his breath. “What hospital?”

“ _Mercy_ _General_ _; we’ve got a doc_ _and nurse_ _there who’_ _re_ _a bit more understanding since we donate to_ _their_ _downtown clinic on the regular._ ”

“Shit,” Jeremy gritted out between clenched teeth as he whipped the car into a drifted u-turn.

“We’re on our way.”

The drive to the hospital wasn’t very long but it seemed like it took a thousand hours. The three of them sat in silence, not willing to break the tension holding everything together. Ryan felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown; his head pounded and his skin itched and it was getting harder for him to take full breaths. The panic attack was rolling into him in waves and he wasn’t sure he could take it for much longer. He barely felt Jeremy put a strong hand on his thigh; of course his best friend could tell he as losing it, of course he wanted to help. But the only thing that could prevent him from falling off the ledge he was teetering over was seeing Michael, whole and well again.

Geoff’s voice came over the coms once again. “ _He’s in surgery right now, up in the OR._ _Ryan, the public doesn’t know your face but they know the rest of us; you’ll have to go in alone. We told the hospital that Michael was attacked, so tell them you were with him when it happened._ ”

Ryan cringed, his brain running a mile a minute. When Jeremy pulled up to the entrance to the ER, his grip tightened.

“You gonna be ok, buddy? I can go in with you, my face isn’t that well kn-”

“No,” Ryan admonished. “No, you can’t risk it. I’ll be ok.”

“Alright, but I’ll stay on the coms. Talk to me, yeah? I’ll be right outside.”

With a shaky breath, Ryan nodded and got out of the car. He forced himself to walk quickly instead of running and headed straight for the front desk. The young woman behind it stood up immediately upon seeing him, her eyes wide with fear. Ryan remembered that he was covered in blood.

“My husband-” his voice caught on the word. “My husband and I were attacked and he was taken here and I need to seem him please where do I go-”

The woman’s expression changed to understanding and she pointed to the elevators. “He’s upstairs on floor three. He’s still in surgery so you’ll have to w-”

He didn’t wait for her to finish; he jogged to where the woman had pointed but opted to take the stairs next to the elevators. He ran up them as fast as he could to the third floor. There was no one else in the waiting room so he stood in the middle, panting, not knowing what to do. Even the coms had gone quiet. A minute passed. He sat in one of the hard chairs and stared at the doors to the OR, helpless in a way that only reminded him of why he hated hospitals so much.

They say that the Vagabond is heartless, fearless, that he's a monster in human form. They say that nothing can hurt him, that he'd walk through Hell and the devil himself would hide. But Ryan – Ryan had never been more terrified in his entire life. Staring at his bloodstained hands, the hard plastic of the waiting room chair digging into his backside, all he could was try desperately to quell the shaking of his limbs. The ticking of a nearby wall clock sounded like gunfire in his ears.

Ryan had never believed in god. He never bothered to trust in something he couldn’t hold in his hands, never tried to justify any of the terrible things happening around him by citing some ineffable plan. People called him the Boogie Man, the Demon of Los Santos, not knowing that the only demons that he believed in were the ones nestled deep in his soul. But right then, with no other desire than for Michael to _live_ , he wished that he could pray.

He wished that he could pray to something and that something would listen. He wished that he could pray and the thing that had taken his mother from him would spare the man he loved. He wished that he could pray and all of this shit would just disappear, that Death would remove the choke hold he had on his life. He wished, he wished, he _wished_.

But he’d never believed in god.

“Mr. Haywood?” A deep voice startled him out of his staring contest; he hadn’t even noticed the OR doors open. “Are you Ryan?”

He could do nothing but nod up at the doctor now standing right in front of him. The scrubs he wore were stained red. How long had he been sitting there?

“He’ll be ok.” Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “We struggled for a few hours there but he’s out of the woods for now. We’re going to move him to a private room in the ICU, fourth floor. Geoff said to let you stay with him.”

Ryan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

The doctor’s face softened. “He’s going to have to stay a while before you transfer him back to wherever it is you treat yourselves normally but you can stay with him. Tell them you’re there for Michael Tanner, I’ve let them know you’re coming.” He gave Ryan a small smile before walking back through the double doors. “And ask the ICU nurses for a change of clothes; you’re going to frighten the staff.”

Ryan’s legs felt like they were made of lead as he made his way to the elevator. Exhaustion radiated through his bones and the ding of the elevator arriving made him flinch. Almost no thoughts existed in his brain, his singular focus getting to Michael. Once he reached the floor and made it to the nurses station, the woman on duty rushed over to him. Her name badge said Amy.

“You must be Mr. Tanner. Doctor Wilson told us to expect you.” She scanned Ryan’s body, most likely for injuries, before looking back into his eyes. “He’s still being set up so you’ll still have to wait a few minutes.”

Ryan nodded absentmindedly, remembering what the doctor had suggested. “Could I maybe get some clean clothes?”

“Of course.” She pointed down a hallway. “There’s a locker room down on your right. Feel free to grab something from the closet in there and take a quick shower. He should be ready to see once you’ve changed.”

The locker room was small and had a shower stall on the far wall. In the closet the nurse had told him about, Ryan found a pair of simple gray scrub pants and a white t-shirt, along with a towel. He took them over to the shower, placed them on a nearby bench, and reached into the stall to turn the water on. He didn’t bother to adjust the temperature before stripping himself of his clothes. His leather jacket hadn’t been replaced yet so he only hesitated a moment before chucking the bloody articles into a nearby trashcan. Before stepping into the shower, he pulled the com out of his ear and tucked it into the pocket of his new pants.

When the lukewarm water rushed over his body, Ryan barely flinched. He stared at the grating in the floor where everything draining away was red. Several places on his skin stung sharply; some of the Devils must have gotten lucky and grazed him with their shots. Ryan didn’t care, they were paltry pains compared to the way his heart clenched in his chest. He barely moved while standing under the water, just stood there and let the powerful spray pound against him and wash the blood away. When the water finally ran clear, Ryan turned the faucet off and grabbed the towel to dry off.

Slipping into the hospital clothes, Ryan was overwhelmed with a strong sense of deja vu; his mother’s emaciated face filled his mind’s eyes and it was like he was transported back to when he was ten years old, when his whole world had shifted. And here he was again, in the place he hated the most, back in the same position of waiting for the dam to break and everything to collapse around him. He barely made it to the trash can before everything in his stomach came violently back up.

Wiping his mouth on the towel, Ryan stumbled to the door, collecting himself before stepping back into the hallway. He put the com back into his ear in case one of the others tried to contact him. His hair was still dripping when he walked up to the nurses station, the nurse – _Amy_ , he thought – looking up as he approached.

“Room three,” She said calmly. “They put him in an induced coma, so be aware that he’ll look, ah, a bit alarming right now.”

“Thank you,” Ryan’ words were almost too quiet to hear.

Amy gave him a small smile. “Geoff called and said you would be staying for a while so I’ll bring in a pillow and some blankets for you later. Let me know if you need anything.”

With one last nod, Ryan made his way to room three. He wasn’t sure what to expect but he prepared for the worst. At the door, he paused, anxiety pounding in his skull; he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t-

“ _Rye?_ ” Jeremy’s voice came to him over the coms. “ _You there?_ ”

He could barely get his words out. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“ _How’s Michael? Have you seen him yet?_ ”

“He’s – He’s in his own room. They said the surgery went ok.”

“ _Are you with him?_ ”

“Jeremy, I can’t-” Ryan’s voice cut out, a sob lodged in his throat. He wished Jeremy could be there to calm him down.

“ _Hey, hey, Rye, it’s going to be ok,_ _I promise._ ” The familiar feeling of Jeremy’s calming presence reached him over the radio. “ _Go be with him. You can do this, buddy._ ”

“Ok.”

“ _We’re just down the street, call if you need us_.”

Ryan stared at the door, the window next to it showing nothing but a white curtain. The number printed in front of him swam in his vision. Stealing himself, he pulled the handle down and quietly entered the room. He gathered his strength and walked around the curtain. All the breath in his lungs left him at the sight of Michael laying in the bed in front of him.

He was so pale – god, he was so fucking _pale_ – and he had tubes and wires sticking out from him in all directions. A ventilator obscured his face and there were too many bandages but under it all, Ryan could see his chest rising and falling, could hear the steady beep of his heart monitor. He was alive. He was _alive_.

It was a miracle that Ryan didn’t collapse right then and there. He finally allowed the tears in his eyes to flow freely and he let out a sob as he dropped into the chair right beside Michael’s bed. Shaking, he grabbed onto the lad’s hand.

“I’m here, Michael,” he managed to say, voice a trembling mess. “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-” His voice cut out as his emotions overtook him and all Ryan could do was put his face down to where he held onto Michael’s hand for dear life and cry uncontrollably.

There was nothing but the steady hum of the ventilator and beep of the heart monitor to answer his cries.

…………………………………………….

Geoff entered the room carefully, depositing a duffle bag he had brought with him on the floor next to the wall. It had been several hours since Doctor Wilson had called to tell him Michael had been moved to a private room and that Ryan was with him. Amy had told him where to go – she was heavily involved with the clinic Wilson ran and was the only other person at the hospital that he trusted. The lighting in the room was dim and it was mostly quiet. He could hear soft words being spoken in a voice he recognized. Ryan turned to him as he stepped around the curtain.

“You look like shit,” Geoff observed.

Ryan was clearly wiped, all energy gone from his face and eyes red, presumably from crying. Geoff didn’t blame him; if that was Jack in that bed, he would have fallen apart too.

“Thanks.”

Geoff moved forward to stand at the foot of Michael’s bed. The sight of the younger man in the state that he was in sent a shiver down his spine. Michael was like a weird, surrogate son to him and it hurt to know that he couldn’t do anything more for him. He glanced over at Ryan who was staring at Michael’s face, eyes blank.

“You should get some sleep, Ryan; they’re not waking him up any time soon.”

The other man turned to glare at him, though the usual fire in his gaze was absent. “I finally have him back, I’m not leaving him again.”

“I know you’re not but he’s not going anywhere and you can sleep here.” Geoff turned back to Michael. “He’ll still be here when you wake up, Rye.”

He could feel Ryan’s stare on him for a few more seconds before the other gent went back to watching Michael. It was silent for a minute before Ryan spoke again.

“What if he never wakes up?”

Geoff sat down in the only other chair in the room, next to the window overlooking the street below. “Wilson is confident that the surgery went well and I trust him. Took real good care of me a couple times before the Fakes were even a thing. Michael _will_ wake up when the good doc decides it’s best.”

“I can’t lose him, Geoff.”

“I know.” Seeing how Ryan looked down at Michael pulled at Geoff’s heart; if they lost Michael, he knew they’d lose Ryan too. “Stay here as long as it takes. I brought you some more clothes and toiletries and Fiona said she’ll be coming by every few days to check in, bring you anything else you need. Amy will be the only nurse checking in.”

Ryan nodded along, never looking up from Michael’s half-covered face. “Thanks, Geoff.”

“We’re all here for you.”

Geoff didn’t get up to leave for several more hours, opting to watch Michael while Ryan took a quick nap, head on the bed next to him and hand still holding the lad’s. He spoke in whispers over the coms to Jack, hoping to fill the tiny void in his chest with a familiar, comforting voice. Only when Amy came in to check on Michael did he get up to leave, putting a reassuring grip on Ryan’s shoulder as he passed him on his way to the door. It would be a while before he saw the other gent in better circumstances.

………………………………………………..

Everything was dark.

His chest hurt.

_Where am I?_

There were voices now, barely audible but definitely there. He couldn’t quite tell what they were saying.

_Was that my name?_

Surely that had been his name spoken just then. And the voice – the voice was one he recognized. But where from?

Slowly, like a sunrise, a soft light began to filter into his vision. It wasn’t painful but he could feel his brows scrunch together nonetheless.

“...Michael?”

He definitely knew that voice.

“Can you hear me?”

 _Ryan_.

Michael slowly opened his eyes, his efforts sluggish. When he could finally see, he was met with piercing blue eyes full of an indescribable emotion.

“Hi,” he managed to whisper.

Ryan’s face split into a relieved smile, a breathy laugh escaping him. “Hi.”

Another man approached him wearing a white lab coat. “Welcome back, Michael. I’m Doctor Wilson.” He moved forward to shine a light into Michael’s eyes. “You’re going to experience some extra soreness in your throat for a bit; we had to insert a breathing tube.”

“How long was I out?” Michael rasped. He coughed roughly.

“Two weeks,” Ryan answered. Michael registered the large hand holding tightly onto his.

His throat ached when he spoke. “The rest of the Devils?”

The voice that responded was another familiar one. “Dead. All of those left in Los Santos are gone now.” Geoff’s face came into focus behind the doctor. “Jeremy and Gav took care of it personally.”

Michael moved his gaze back to Ryan. “Are you-” he coughed again, his trachea burning. “Are you ok?”

Ryan laughed incredulously. “Of course you’re asking me if I’m – you’re the one who, who was-” He couldn’t finish, tears coming to his eyes.

“I’m ok, Rye.” Michael gave the gent’s hand a weak squeeze. “I feel like shit but I’m ok.”

It felt like he’d swallowed a cactus.

Doctor Wilson stepped back towards Geoff. “He’s alright for now. He’ll be really tired for a while and we’ve got him heavily dosed up with pain meds but I’m not worried. We can leave them be for now.”

“Yeah, alright.” Geoff conceded. “I’ll be right outside, you two. The others will want to visit soon, so we’re gonna sneak ‘em in in a couple hours.”

Ryan turned to nod at the other two men before sitting down in a chair next to Michael and focusing back on him. Geoff shut the door lightly.

Ryan took a shaky breath and put a hand out to caress Michael’s face. He ran a thumb delicately across his cheekbone and Michael closed his eyes at the contact. He reached up his other hand to place over the gent’s.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Ryan confessed. “I’m so sorry it took us so long to find you.”

“It’s ok, I know you tried. I never lost hope, you know.” His words sounded like gravel.

“You were gone so long and god, look what they did to you-”

“Shh, Rye, I’m right here, I’m alright,” Michael reassured, giving Ryan’s hand a little shake. His point was slightly derailed though by the coughing fit his words caused. When he tipped forward to curl into himself to avoid shifting his wound painfully, Ryan put a hand on his back and began to rub soothingly between his shoulder blades.

There was still guilt plain as day in Ryan’s expression once the coughing ceased; _he blames himself_ , Michael realized sadly. He would probably blame himself for the rest of his life, knowing Ryan.

“Listen, I don’t need you wallowing in guilt, ok? I don’t blame you for what happened, for what Dante-” he took a steadying breath, the image of his former boss smiling cruelly down at him flashing in his head. He cleared his throat to prevent more coughing. “For what Dante did to me. I don’t blame you for any of this, Rye, I really don’t.”

“Michael-”

“No, listen here, you selfless prick, you’re not allowed to feel guilty, ok? The only thing you’re guilty of is being the only thing that got me through it all.” Ryan’s forehead creased at that. The hand on his back paused its ministrations. “Ryan, I thought about you every single day. Every time those fuckers put their hands on me, I would think abut you coming to get me, how you were gonna be so angry when you got there. I just imagined how it felt when you kissed me. I held onto that and I _knew_ you’d come.”

Ryan sat there, dumbstruck, and started to pull his hands away from Michael. “ _Fuck_ , you’re too much.” Michael’s stomach dropped. “I don’t deserve yo-”

Michael snatched Ryan’s hand before he could pull it completely away. “You’re fucking _it_ for me, you get that? I can’t-” Once again, he cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t be alive without you, I don’t _want_ to be alive without you.”

Silence stretched between them. Ryan’s eyes had gone wide and his mouth was hanging partially open. What felt like an eternity was only a few seconds before Ryan was surging forwards and then his lips were on Michael’s.

It should have been painful, the pressure of his lips, but Michael couldn’t give one single shit; every single fiber of his being was singing, full of love for this stupid, _stupid_ man. The kiss was intense, not quite forceful but desperate all the same. The ice had been broken and he was drowning in the best possible way. He was falling falling falling and with every slide of their lips, every tiny breathy moan that slipped from their mouths, Michael fell further and further.

The beeping of the heart monitor still attached to him grew faster as he wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck and pressed into the kiss with all of his limited strength. He wanted to be closer, to melt his body into Ryan’s, to be fully encased in the feeling of his warmth. There was nowhere else in the world he wanted be. The room smelled like disinfectant but Ryan smelled like _home_.

“ _I love you_ ,” Ryan whispered against Michael’s lips. “ _I love you so fucking much_.”

Michael’s heart swelled. “Then shut up and kiss me again.”

………………………………………..

It was hours later when the rest of the crew showed up. Gavin was a blubbering mess and even Jack couldn’t hold back her tears. Ryan stood off to the side to let the others have a chance to hug Michael. Once he had said his piece, Jeremy walked over to stand by his side. The silent gesture of friendship and solidarity gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

Jeremy lightly elbowed him in the ribs. “You tell him yet?”

He gazed over at Michael, surrounded by family, and the lad looked back at him with a face so obviously full of love that Ryan couldn’t hold back his smile.

“Yeah, I told him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand there we go! I hope that ending was as satisying for you to read as it was for me to write. Expect the epilogue to be up sometime this week!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading <3 Come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)!


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a week late but it needed to be juuust right. How else was I going to finish up all that angst? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for sticking it out! Please enjoy this fluff <3

It’s like this:

Michael had never felt this way about anyone before. He’d never been this comfortable, this at home with another person. Lindsay said that’s what love felt like and Fiona said it just gets worse over time – she would know; Matt’s been under her skin since the moment she joined the Fakes. He’d dated other people but none of them made his skin tingle when they touched him or his heart stutter when they entered the room or any of the other cheesy stuff that Ryan made him feel.

Because Ryan made him feel all of that and so much more; he was everything that Michael had thought he would never have. And yet here he was, surrounded by the older man’s arms, feeling safer than he ever had.

“Better?” Ryan asked, voice low and still full of concern.

“Yeah.”

The gent slowly relinquished his tight hold on Michael’s body but remained holding him. “Ok. Do you need anything or do you think you can go back to sleep?”

“I’m ok now. Thanks.” His voice was hoarse.

Michael had awoken screaming again not ten minutes before. He had been having one of his frequent nightmares, the one where Dante shoots Ryan right in front of him and he has to watch him die, over and over and over again. He was never able to get to him in time. Whenever he had these dreams, he found himself being forced from sleep by Ryan’s strong embrace, soft reassurances of “ _I’m here_ ” and “ _They can’t hurt you anymore_ ” spoken into his ear.

And just like every other time before, Michael let himself be held and allowed Ryan’s presence to pull the fear from his bones. Sometimes he even let a few silent tears go – it felt good to be in a place where he was comfortable showing his vulnerability. Some nights were worse than others but the older man never wavered in his ministrations or support. It had already been three months since the rescue and none of that had changed.

Ryan brushed a piece of sweaty hair away and kissed his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, so try and sleep. Wake me back up if you can’t, ok?”

“Ok.”

But Michael knew he wouldn’t, he never did. He hated being a burden, hated always needing Ryan’s help to calm down. Every one of his screaming fits just meant that he was disrupting Ryan’s life and that _hurt_. It wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ him around, it was just that he was so used to dealing with these sorts of things by himself and he wasn’t sure how to accept it, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to ask for it.

He wasn't broken, he was healing; you don't get kidnapped and tortured for 6 weeks and not come out the other side a little messed up. But he was healing. He had nightmares and flashbacks and things that triggered him, and sometimes he would lay in bed all day because everything was too much, but he was healing. And yeah, most nights it took him a while to get to sleep and most mornings he woke up feeling no less tired but that's what happens when the darkness filled you with dread.

But he was healing.

It wasn't overnight, and it wasn't some miracle, but slowly, with the help of his family, he felt more and more like himself. When he would lose himself in a memory while on a mission, Gavin was there to bring him back with a firm grip on his arm. When he couldn't tell the difference between reality and a waking nightmare during a heist, Jack was there to pull him into one of her trademark bear hugs till he snapped out of it. And for all of those times and every little thing in between, Ryan was there, every little touch and meaningful look a soothing balm against the world.

He never did fall back asleep, never could after dreams like that. Instead he simply lay there in the cage of Ryan’s arms – safe, warm, _loved_ – and listened to the gent’s heartbeat. It was one of his favorite things to do when he couldn’t sleep; hearing the physical evidence that Ryan was there never failed to calm him down. Eventually, a trickle of light started to seep through the window curtains and Michael began the slow process of untangling himself from Ryan without waking him up. He hadn’t missed a sunrise since he’d been rescued.

Their room was cold so he put on his slippers and padded over to the hamper to grab one of Ryan’s sweaters that lay rumpled on the top – this ensured that it still smelled like the other man. Michael wrapped himself up and silently left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He and Ryan had taken to sharing the gent’s room at the penthouse; it had a bigger bed than Michael’s and a nicer view of the city. But the view he was looking for, the one that really got him up in the morning, was the one provided by the huge window in the living room. It looked out over the whole east side of Los Santos and was not obscured by any other buildings.

He arrived at the window just a few minutes before the sun would breach the horizon. He took several deep breathes and fiddled with the long sleeves of the sweater. A minute passed when he heard a door open down the hall, soon followed by soft footfalls.

“I take it you couldn’t get back to seep again.” It wasn’t quite a question but Ryan didn’t sound accusatory.

Michael tucked his hands into his sleeves and continued to look out the window. “Guess you knew all along, huh?”

“I kinda figured, yeah. Just always assumed you wanted to be alone.”

Every morning after Michael had watched the sunrise, he would quietly slip back under the covers with Ryan and the gent would curl around him. Michael had thought it was an unconscious response but now he was reconsidering his guess.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.”

The footsteps moved in Michael’s direction, stopping right behind him in a silent bid for permission. The lad didn’t move so large, warm arms wrapped slowly around his upper body and a broad chest pressed up against his back. Ryan rested his head on Michael’s shoulders.

“I know you don’t think you can ask for help, or that you’re putting some sort of pressure on me, but you’re not.” Ryan’s voice was strained. “No matter what, I want you to be comfortable in asking me for help. I want to help, I want to be there for you. You are worth every second of time I give you and more.”

Michael shifted slightly on his feet. “I know, Rye, I just – I just-” He couldn’t get the words out.

Ryan kissed the side of his head. “Hey, hey, it’s ok, I know. I know, sweetheart, I know.”

Just like the first time the term of endearment was used, Michael was filled with a warm glow similar to being filled with liquid sunshine. He leaned back against Ryan and sighed, eyes still trained on the horizon – the sun had begun its slow ascent. _This is good. I belong here, I’m safe_.

“I can’t guarantee that I’ll do it every time but I’ll – I’ll try to wake you up when I feel like this.”

There was a smile in Ryan’s voice when he responded. “Sometimes trying is the part that matters most.”

The sun was spreading warm rays of light across the whole city below them. Skyscrapers cast long shadows that spread out behind them like capes and the ocean glittered as if filled with thousands of blue diamonds. And Michael had never felt luckier than he did right then, tucked in the arms of the man he loved and surrounded by so much beauty. He reached up with both hands and grabbed Ryan’s arms, tilting his head to kiss one.

“I love you,” the gent whispered.

Michael closed his eyes. He didn’t need the sunrise; he had all the warmth he needed right here. “I love you too.”

……………………………………………..

“Michael boi, where’ve you been? I’ve been looking all over the bloody city for you!”

Michael laughed at his best friend. “Gav, if I told you where I was hiding, I’d have to think up a better place for the next time we play hide and seek, and that was apparently a damn good spot.”

Gavin gave a short squawk. “Fine, but next time you gotta give me more time!”

“No can do buddy; fair is fair! I had two hours to find you and I did it in one, you’re just not as good.” He began the process of removing all of his riding gear. “Besides, any longer and I wouldn’t have enough time to get ready for my date.”

“Ohhhh, got a fancy date, have we? Care to tell me who the lucky chap is?” Gavin’s question was accompanied by an exaggerated wink.

Michael playfully shoved the other lad as he walked by on the way to the bathroom. “Shut up, dickhead.”

Geoff piped up from the couch where he was laying his head on Jack’s lap, her hands carding through his hair. “Gav, leave the poor guy alone, he hasn’t gotten laid in two days, I’m sure he’s tense!”

He could hear Gavin cackling behind him.

In the year since they officially began their relationship, Ryan and Michael hadn’t gone on a single ‘date’. They had movie nights and breakfast in bed and visited the bombing range up north together but not once had either of them taken the other out to a nice dinner or went on a romantic walk on the beach. It hadn’t really been on either of their minds, what with the Rooster’s lengthy process of clearing out all of the Jersey Devils on the East Coast (Gavin had spent several weeks overall traveling back and forth to provide help) and the lengthy lists of heists and jobs Geoff had for the crew. But now that there was a lull in activity, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. So Ryan had put on a fake nervous air and asked Michael out on a date. _I’ll even have you back before curfew_ , the gent had joked.

Michael couldn’t even remember the last time he had been on a date – maybe high school? He wasn’t sure what to wear or what to expect. Ryan could have planned for any number of things! The only clue he had been given was to bring a jacket and not wear anything too fancy. Dinner and a movie? A scenic drive into Vinewood Hills? Spontaneous jewelry store stick-up? They all sounded just as likely as the others.

While he pondered the many possible events tonight could involve, Michael took a quick shower to wash away the sweat from his game with Gavin. He made sure to wash his hair and scrub down his arms. When he got out of the shower, the steamy room smelled like sandalwood and vanilla.

Once clean and dry, he stood in front of his open shared closet and tried to pick something suitable for their date. He knew Ryan’s favorite color was blue, so he reached in and grabbed a blue Henley along with his nicest pair of black jeans. Foregoing his classic Mogar jacket (too conspicuous), he instead pulled out a much less tattered denim one, complete with a little pin Lindsay had given him with a bear on it. For shoes, he went with black classic canvass. As far as he was concerned, Michael thought he cleaned up pretty nicely.

“Well, guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

When he walked into the kitchen, Ryan was already standing there, absorbed in whatever Gavin was telling him.

“-and besides that, how would you even fit an entire loaf of bread in there?”

Ryan laughed as he turned to see Michael walk in; his entire face lit up the moment he saw him, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that never failed to make the lad’s stomach flutter.

“There you are. You look good.”

Michael glanced down at himself before taking a better look at what the other man was wearing: nice brown leather boots, fitted dark blue jeans, and an un-tucked red and black checked flannel shirt. He had a plain black leather jacket draped over one arm and was wearing his old faded baseball cap. Everything about him screamed HOT to Michael and he struggled to stay focused, despite the fact that he had been able to publicly stare this man all he wanted for a whole year.

“Not so bad yourself.”

Ryan chuckled lightly. “Thanks. Ready to go?”

Michael nodded and walked over to him. The gent leaned down and gave him a quick kiss and Gavin started making exaggerated gagging noises. Michael just flipped him off without looking over at him; he hadn’t seen his boyfriend all day and deserved at least this one hello kiss.

“Right, let’s head out. I’ve got the bike ready outside.”

“Have fun, you two!” Jack called from the couch at the same time that Geoff shouted “Use protection!”

The two of them made their way down the elevator and then outside, where Ryan’s shiny Shotaro was parked up on the sidewalk. They both got on and were immediately speeding off down the street, Michael’s arms wrapped tightly around Ryan’s middle. It wasn’t long before the lad figured out where they were headed – the pier. Of _course_ they were going to the pier; for all the times the crew had messed around there, they had never actually _been_ there for its intended purpose. _I guess I did manage to dress properly._

As dates go, this one probably topped some sort of Best Of list. Maybe Michael was a little biased or didn’t have enough experience in the matter but it was definitely one of the best nights he had ever had.

Ryan, it turns out, was really good at those ring toss games – made sense considering he has killer aim. After only a few turns, he was able to win Michael a medium-sized stuffed bear (he named it Mogar Jr) and a flower crown for himself. He put it on over his hat. _I’ll give it to Fiona when we get home_ , he’d claimed, though Michael wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t just keep it for himself. Couldn’t really blame him though; the gent looked really cute with a halo of daisies.

They ate funnel cake and greasy hot dogs, rode the roller coaster and tried all the carnival games, and took photos in one of those little booths that provided silly props. Michael had slipped the little photo strip into his wallet. The crowning jewel of the night, however, had to be the glorious make-out session they had while riding the Ferris wheel; kissing Ryan never got old and Michael just really loved the way the crisp night air gave him chills but it was Ryan’s touch that gave him goosebumps.

Back at the penthouse, curled up together on the couch with Pride and Prejudice playing – the 2005 version, Ryan’s favorite – the two of them whispered silly commentary and traded soft kisses. It was domestic and cliché and totally sappy, overly saccharine to anyone who walked by, but it was exactly that kind of thing that made the perfect end to a perfect night. Michael was filled with such a strong sense of _belonging_ that he wouldn’t have been able to put it into words even if Ryan asked.

But he could certainly show him.

……………………………………………

It’s not easy to be away from your partner for long periods of time, for anyone really. But for Ryan and Michael, it was even harder; there was often no way to contact the other person when they were on recon or undercover missions and it was stressful not knowing if they were ok or not. The same thing could be said for when teams had to lay low after heists and they weren’t paired up together. Ryan had insisted for the first few years after the ‘incident’ that he always be on a team with Michael but five years on and Geoff had had enough of planning around them.

This time was no different; Michael had been gone for three weeks with Jeremy on a covert opp deep within a Merryweather base far up north and hadn’t been able to contact the crew since they reached the site. But they were due to come back sometime later today. Gav had tracked their car leaving the base safely but even that didn’t calm down all of Ryan’s anxiety. He couldn’t help it – he would probably never get used to it. Gavin was also a bundle of nerves, Jeremy’s absence noticeably wearing the lad down. Normally, Ryan would have been teasing him but he could tell that this time was different somehow.

 _Just a few more hours_ , he reassured himself. _Just a few more hours and he’ll be home_.

He spent his time pacing the living room, drinking diet coke after diet coke. He’d already cleaned their shared room and replaced the bed sheets, he’d even wiped down the walls of the shower; he didn’t have anything else to do but wait. Ryan _hated_ waiting.

Suddenly, he heard Gavin shout his name from down the hall, his thundering footsteps soon following as he ran into the room. A jolt of familiar fear shot through him at the sound but when he saw the lad’s elated face, his heartbeat shot up for a different reason.

“Rye, they’re he-”

Gavin didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the elevator dinged and the dark blur of a stealth suit-clad Jeremy whizzed passed and tackled him to the ground. Ryan really wasn’t surprised to see Jeremy plant a big, long-expected kiss straight on the British man’s mouth.

“He’s been talking about doing that for days.”

Ryan was filled to the brim with relief at the familiar gravely voice; his efforts to contain himself were only barely successful.

“You’re home early,” he said, turning to see Michael walking towards him, dropping his bag along the way.

“Yeah, well, Jeremy sped the whole way here. I think he was excited or something.”

Ryan chuckled, his hands going to the sides of Michael’s face. “I suppose I would be too, given the circumstances.”

“Can’t say I blame him.” Michael rapped his arms around the gent’s neck, pulled him down, and touched their foreheads together. “I was ready to be home too.”

Their kiss was soft, chaste, and inexplicably gentle. Ryan felt warmth spread through his body, starting where their lips met and reaching his fingertips and toes. Three weeks of emotions and hello-goodnight kisses were hidden behind that one action. With a small huff of laughter, Michael broke away and stared into Ryan’s eyes, heads still touching.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

He kissed the gent’s nose and leaned back, arms sliding from his neck. “We’re gonna continue this later but right now I need to take a shower.”

“So that’s what the smell is.”

The lad smacked Ryan’s arm as he walked away to grab his bag and head to the bathroom. “Watch it, mister, or no more kisses.”

Ryan gasped, mock horror on his face. “You wouldn’t!”

“I can and I will!” Came the answer from down the hall.

There was only fondness in his gaze when Ryan stared after the lad, happiness still seeped into his bones.

“You guys are gross.”

He looked down to where Jeremy and Gavin were still tangled on the carpet. “Bold coming from the two idiots making out on the floor.”

Jeremy’s face was beet red. “Hey! It was important!”

“About time? Yes. Important? Sure. A tad bit much? Absolutely.”

Gavin’s face was also flushed but he looked happier than he had in months. “Sod off, Rye, we’re having a moment.”

 _More like several moments_ , Ryan thought as he walked away, smiling and shaking his head. He turned towards the hallway to see a shirtless Michael leaning against the wall with a crooked grin on his face.

“You joinin’ me or what?”

“On my way, dear.”

They took an extra long shower, taking their time running their soapy hands all along the curves of each others’ bodies, muscle by muscle. Every inch of skin was scanned for any signs of injury. Ryan only found a few small bruises and scrapes along Michael’s shoulder. _Smashed a door in_ , the lad explained. The older man kissed every single mark. Each caress and every touch was a reminder that the other was safe. They didn’t need to talk; what words could they say that their hands could not?

When they were finished, Ryan stepped out first to hand Michael a fluffy white towel. The lad dried himself off, rumpled it through his hair, and wrapped it around his waist before moving over to a still-naked Ryan. He snagged a silver chain that hung around the gent’s neck with a black metal ring on it and gently dragged him closer till he could kiss him.

“Why, Mr. Haywood, what was that for?” Ryan joked, subtle southern accent coming through.

Michael smiled against his lips. “Well, Mr. Haywood, I just wanted to kiss my husband is all.”

Ryan kissed him again. And again. And again. He put his arm around the lad’s lower back and used it to press their bodies together. A hand with a matching black ring went to the side of his face, thumb lightly caressing his cheekbone. Michael sighed, his breath sliding across their lips.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Ryan breathed back.

They eventually made their way to their bedroom, where they tossed their towels at the end of the king sized bed and crawled underneath the sheets. Michael lay with his head on Ryan’s chest while the gent’s arm wrapped around his middle, their hands held between them. They simply breathed together, existed in the same space together, enjoying the presence of the other that they’d both been missing. It was a peaceful feeling that Ryan only seemed to truly feel when he was alone with Michael. But he also had other ideas about where this night was going to go.

As if on cue, the lad sat up and moved to straddle Ryan’s waist, hands flat on his broad chest. The gent cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing we’re done with all the lovey-dovey stuff now?”

Michael answered by giving him a little smirk and slowly rolling his hips against the gent’s. His grin grew wider in response to Ryan’s short intake of breath.

“I’ve got three weeks of pent up tension that has to go _somewhere_.” He ground against him again. “You should be glad I didn’t pounce on you like Jeremy did to Gav.”

Ryan’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he lifted his hips to meet Michael’s movements. “Maybe I should have picked a less crazy partner...”

“Too late! You’re stuck with me, forever!” Michael held up his left hand where his wedding band contrasted nicely with his pale skin.

Ryan pulled him back down to his lips. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\-----

Michael used to hate cuddling; it was too hot, too sweet, too _close_. But cuddling with Ryan, especially after mind-blowing sex, was a whole different ballgame entirely.

He didn’t mind that the older man was basically a human heater. He didn’t mind that Ryan preferred to be big spoon. And he certainly didn’t mind the way Ryan’s hands never seemed to be able to stop ghosting over his skin, finding every scar and pressing into them ever so gently. There wasn’t another feeling quite like it.

Just like always, tonight found Ryan letting his hands wander, touching him just the way the lad liked. Inevitably, his fingers found Michael’s biggest, gnarliest scar, the one that made his breath hitch without fail every time it was touched – the knife wound that almost ended his life. Often, when Michael had his shirt off, he would catch Ryan staring at it with this certain look in his eyes, pained and lost. Though the look had softened over the years, it never failed to pull at Michael’s heart; it was a painful memory for the both of them.

But things were so much better now than they had been even a few short years ago. Michael was no longer afraid to ask for help or to talk to anyone about how he was feeling. He still had nightmares but they were few and far between and Ryan was still there every time to wake him up, the two of them watching the sunrise together after every bad dream. He was teaching the gent to cook and Ryan was showing him how to knit. Things were good. They were really, _really_ good.

“Whatchya thinkin’ ‘bout,” the lad mumbled.

Ryan’s hand flattened against the scar. “How much I love you.”

With a small laugh, Michael took Ryan’s hand and put it to his lips. He kissed his wrist, his palm, and then the pads of each finger. He flipped the hand over and kissed every single knuckle. He was slow and methodical. When he was done, he curled his own fingers into Ryan’s and held them against his steady heartbeat. Happy was too little a word for how he felt.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Wow. So.
> 
> I set out on this adventure looking for a way to end my writer's block and ended up writing almost 45,000 words - my mind? Still blown. And people actually read my stuff for the first time EVER, which was nerve-wracking to say the least. But everything went so much better than I ever could have hoped. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments and read this whole damn thing, you guys are all amazing. And thanks again to my two BEAUTIFUL betas [shineelocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineelocket) and [wefall-nomore](https://wefall-nomore.tumblr.com) for being so patient and helpful.
> 
> I can't wait to write more! I've got so many ideas now, for this universe and more, and I'm very excited to show you all.
> 
> As always, please come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com).
> 
> <3


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